


Embers

by ealamusings



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Canon Compliant, Comfort/Angst, Cressidale, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Mockingjay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 17:08:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2515352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ealamusings/pseuds/ealamusings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Gale is working for the new government of Panem under President Paylor. He continues to struggle with the aftermath of his actions and motivations in his life and in the rebellion. A chance encounter with Cressida, a former Star Squad member, now working as a journalist, changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He Didn't Even See it Coming

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games Trilogy or any of the characters included in my story. It is the creation of Suzanne Collins. I am truly grateful to the author for this wonderful series.  
> I am also grateful for the support of Everlarked (here on AO3)/ hinkeeverlark (on tumblr) for being my wonderful beta. I also want to thank notanislander for encouraging me to write this story. Embers is told from both Gale and Cressida's POV. It is a story of living with the consequences of choices made in war.  
> It is not my intention to minimize Gale's choices and actions, but to have him come to terms with them. I hope that you find that my story strikes an acceptable balance between condemning his actions and allowing him to ultimately find redemption.

Cressida steps from the train onto the platform in District Eight and into the late morning sunshine. She turns to see Pollux as he supervises the unloading of the camera equipment as she retrieves her own luggage. They make their way down the platform with their bags to the waiting car that will transport them to the heart of the district’s reconstruction activity.

They are here to cover President Paylor’s official visit to her home district. She’s scheduled to lead the ceremonial ground-breaking for the new hospital being constructed on the remains of the one they had witnessed destroyed over nine months ago. The president visiting her home district is always a big story, but this one has symbolical significance as she presides over the transformation and restoration of Panem. And Cressida is eager to tell a feel-good, inspiring story for a change after reporting on the destruction in the aftermath of the rebellion.

But that is scheduled for tomorrow. This afternoon she is scheduled to interview Gale, who has been stationed here for the past month in his capacity of military liaison with the civilian workforce, including the press. Yeah, she’s been looking forward to seeing him, too.

Their last meeting hadn’t been exactly pleasant, and they’d parted with some harsh words. She hadn’t pulled any punches, and she knows her words had stung, but they also needed to be said. But that had been over a month ago, and they hadn’t talked since. Hopefully this two-day visit can smooth things over. Cressida knows that Gale still harbours anger for things that have happened in his life, but she also knows that pain and guilt are lurking inside him as well. Even if he isn’t ready to face up to it yet. She hates the idea of someone like him wallowing in such negativity when he has so much potential. It reminds her of herself years ago.

She and Pollux have worked closely over the past months. Add that to their time together as part of the Mockingjay film crew, she has grown to understand his unique sign language. Everyone had relied on Castor to be the principle interpreter for his brother, but with his death, the two of them have found their own way to understand each other. It’s odd, Cressida notes, how even though she isn’t an Avox, she chooses to talk in his language when they work together. It’s rather satisfying in a way, watching the confused faces of others as the two of them go about their business without a spoken word. 

The car delivers them to the dull grey building that will accommodate them during their brief stay. The apartment building was one of a handful that came through the war relatively unscathed. The leaders in District Eight had quickly set it up as temporary housing for government officials like Gale, demolition crews, engineers and visiting press. She and Pollux are issued keys for their rooms and as they turn to make their way to the elevator, she finds herself face to face with a smiling Gale.  
“Welcome to ‘the Palace’, he says with a chuckle.

She smiles back, surprised by just how nice it is to see him again. Relieved that the way they ended their previous meeting appears to be forgotten, or at least forgiven. “Look at you, all dignified and official in that get-up,” she teases back as her eyes involuntarily travel the full length of his uniform, not unaware of how appealing he looks in it. She reminds herself that her interest is purely professional - ‘good for the camera’ and ‘plays well to the audience’ for the interview later today.

But one glance at Pollux as Gale offers to help carry their gear, tells her she isn’t fooling him. He gives her a sappy look and taps his hand over his heart in rapid succession when Gale’s back is turned.  
“Shut up,” Cressida mutters.  
“Excuse me?” Gale turns and asks.  
“Not you, Gale. Pollux is being a brat.” As they step into the elevator car, Pollux silently chuckles to himself, Gale quirks his eyebrow wondering what he missed, and Cressida shakes her head at the reality of Pollux’s observation. And the absurdity of telling an Avox to keep his mouth shut is lost on none of them.

They arrive on the fifth floor and Gale drops off their gear in front of Pollux’s room. Cressida’s unit is across from him. “You have your own toilet and sink but there’s a shared shower at the end of the hall. You visitors have to rough it,” Gale jokes and indicates the direction. “And you saw the restaurant downstairs. There’s also a lounge with some card tables and billiards for guests down there, too. My room is upstairs, #720. Because I’m here for an extended time, I get a full suite,” Gale gloats.

“Well, then you can host us for dinner tonight, Mr. Big Shot” Cressida replies without missing a beat. Did I just invite myself to his room? she privately queries. She feels a smile forming and thinks to herself, I guess I can be a brat, too.

Gale looks momentarily startled, but recovers a second later. “Uh, sure. We can pick up our food ‘to go’ from downstairs after we finish the tour.”  
Pollux immediately holds up a hand and shakes his head. Pantomimes taking aim with a pool cue. Cressida shoots Pollux a warning glare, to which he replies with his best innocent face, ‘What?’

Gale breaks the silence, “Okay, so it’s just you and me, Cress. If you guys need anything just let me know. I’ll let you settle in and I’ll see you at the site later.” With that he heads back down the hall. Pollux points to his watch, and holds up two fingers. ‘See you at two o’clock.’ Cressida nods and indicates downstairs. ‘I’ll meet you in the lobby.’ 

That’s good, she thinks. That means I have three hours to rest and clean up before the tour of the restoration work and interview with Gale, she tells herself as she picks up her bags.

Once Gale is out of hearing range she leans across to Pollux, “And don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing!” she whispers with mock anger. He just smiles and enters his room with a dismissive wave.

She opens the door to her tiny room and takes in it’s utilitarian appearance. A single bed in the corner. A table with two folding chairs. A narrow wardrobe against the wall. A small half bath with the toilet and sink that Gale mentioned, behind the door to the left. She drops her bags on the bare concrete floor, and flops down on the bed. She wonders what Gale’s quarters look like. Surely he would have something nicer than this, but things are still pretty rough in District Eight. She supposes it wouldn’t look good for the president’s home district to look like it was getting special attention when there is so much destruction throughout the country.

Thinking about Gale’s suite gets her thinking about its occupant. How it felt for him to see her again when he greeted them downstairs. She wonders, what was he thinking?…

…What was he thinking? Gale asks himself, several hours later. He’d invited Cressida up to his place. He still remembers how furious he was with her at their last meeting in District Two over a month ago. But one smile from her when she turned to look at him in the lobby and he’d forgotten all about it. He missed having friends around. And despite how irritatingly efficient she could be at drawing him out on topics he would rather avoid, he is genuinely happy to see her. And Pollux, too, though he never quite knew how to carry on a conversation with the man.

But his place is a mess. Gale checks his watch and he sees it’s already six o’clock. And she’s going to be here in thirty minutes. He’s still unnerved from this afternoon’s discovery of yet more bodies at a demolished factory building adjacent to the hospital site being prepped for tomorrow’s ceremony. He thought he’d seen the last of the recovery effort earlier in the month, but the sight of the newly discovered remains laid out as he acted as tour guide, for some reason pushed him over the edge. 

It makes him run both hot and cold. Hot in reliving the fury over the Capitol’s assault that he, as a member of the Mockingjay propo team, had witnessed and experienced first hand. And cold because of Cressida’s insinuations at their last meeting that the rebels, including him, had plenty of blood on their hands, too. She didn’t excuse herself in blame and she made it difficult for him to argue against her logic. But he resented any suggestion that he shared anything in common with the Capitol.

Out of the blue, Katniss’s accusation surfaces, along with his defiant response, “Beetee and I have been following the same rule book President Snow used when he hijacked Peeta.” Oh yeah, there’s that. And Prim… Still, comparing his actions and motivations to Snow’s wasn’t fair. But he hopes Cressida doesn’t make him defend himself tonight. She has a way of making him realize some uncomfortable truths. He really isn’t up to it tonight. 

He only has a half an hour to shower and clean up the place. So he sets these thoughts aside and focuses instead on his dinner date. He takes out a set of clean clothes from the chest of drawers and lays them out on the bed and heads to his bathroom, grateful to have his own private shower.

Two hours later, the horror of today’s discovery is almost pushed from Gale’s thoughts. The last of the meal completed, he stacks the dirty dishes in the sink as Cressida makes her way to the sofa…

…Cressida makes her way to the sofa. The take-out food containers from the make-shift restaurant downstairs litter the counter of Gale’s small kitchen. He reaches across them for the bottle of wine she brought as a gift, to top up their glasses. He drains the last of it into her glass.

“Do you like the red?” she asks.  
“Not really, I’m not sure wine is my thing, but it’s got me feeling pretty good!” he says with a wide grin.  
“It’s an acquired taste,” she answers, glad to see him relax as the misery of the day drains away. It was a rough day for her, too, remembering the Capitol’s attack during their first propo mission together. 

Gale walks over to the small sitting area of his modest studio suite, where Cressida has kicked off her shoes. She reclines back on the sofa with her feet resting on the coffee table. He hands her the refilled glass as she observes the state of the room. “This really is quite nice considering the condition of the rest of the district. Still room for improvement though,” she teases with mock snobbery.

He takes a seat next to her on the sofa before replying. “Are you kidding? Have you forgotten those cubby holes that they assigned us in D13?” Cressida thinks back on the spartan unit she had shared with Fulvia in the underground complex. Actually it wasn’t much different than her tiny unit two floors down from here, though at least this one has a window. But Gale’s unit is a nice size and she’s impressed that he keeps it as tidy as it is. 

“This place is so much better than anything we ever had growing up in Twelve,” he continues. “I doubt even the merchants back home had it this good.”

Back home, in District Twelve. So there is the elephant in the room. He knows I just came from Twelve, she thinks. Is this his way of bringing up certain developments in his old district? It has to be on his mind, she reckons.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks sincerely. He gives her a long searching look, but then closes his eyes as if the light is too bright.  
“No,” he replies, sounding more weary than bitter. That’s a change for the better, Cressida notes, even if it’s a small one. He takes a drink from his glass, places it down on the small table beside him and turns back to face her. “I want to talk about something good. It’s been one of those days, you know? All the bodies…” His voice drifts off. She knows.

“Yes, I know what you mean,” she responds. “It’s like this all over the country. I took an afternoon off when I was in Twelve and hiked out to your old hunting spot where we filmed the propos. I just needed to get away from it all. Everything is coming back into leaf, pale green, fresh, really beautiful.”

Gale lifts his glass again and indicates towards Cressida’s tattoos that adorn the side of her head and extend all the way down her left arm. “I’ll bet you blended right in,” he says with a playful glint in his eye. Cressida notes a half beat later that his expression turns inward, almost sad. After a short pause, he continues, that brief moment of mirth absent from his voice again, “I wish I could have been there. So many great memories out in those woods.”

“Maybe you should go back for a visit,” she replies. The look on his face is her answer. It’s too soon. She directs the conversation to something more comfortable.

“Oh, tell me about those times! I could use a good story. And I have a feeling you could use the reminder, too.”  
“What do you want to know?”  
She can see a certain wariness in his expression. Talking about his life back in Twelve still has an edge. “Tell me about the best day you ever had.” She curls her feet up under her, turning her body towards him and cupping the glass of wine in her two hands close to her chest.

“Alright.” Gale smiles as he grasps on to a memory. “Here’s one day that I’ll never forget. Katniss was always the better shot, and believe me, she knew it. I was the expert at trapping. But this one day she couldn’t go out with me, something about helping her Mom when Prim came down with a fever. It was just me, a bow and the woods.”  
“How old were you?” Cressida asks.  
“I had just turned sixteen, it was early autumn, and the day was perfect - warm sun, still air, the leaves were just starting to change colour.”

Gale continues, and Cressida notices how he changes when he tells his story. His body seems to relax and his eyes become animated, no longer reflecting the tinge of bitterness and regret that has been their signature in all of their meetings since the war ended.

She feels herself begin to drift. First it’s her eyes as they drop down from his grey eyes to his mouth, watching his lips move as he speaks. Then it’s her thoughts, no longer focusing purely on his story. He’s really quite a different person when he’s actually happy. Attractive. He’s always been incredibly photogenic, but this is in a new way. Interesting.

As he describes how he quietly stalked a large buck, and the rush of excitement from taking it down with one shot, she can’t help noticing his hands as he gestures. The olive skin of his finely muscled forearms contrasting with the white of the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt. The long fingers so skilled at constructing his trap lines. She suspects that those hands are good at more than just setting snares. She becomes acutely aware of a familiar change in herself, too. One that she hasn’t felt in a longer time than she cares to admit. Something akin to the thrill of the hunt…

“…The thrill of the hunt, there’s nothing like it! Hey, are you even listening?” Gale asks when he catches the trajectory of her eyes. It’s a little unsettling for him, but not entirely unwelcome.  
“Hmm?… yes… big game…snuck up on him… didn’t even see it coming… best day ever…” she murmurs. “Please continue.” She places her wine glass on the coffee table.

As he resumes his story about trying to figure out how he was going to get the large animal home, she reaches across the sofa to graze her hand along the side of his face, over his jaw, down his neck, finally reaching the collar of his white shirt. Gale goes silent when he feels her expertly pop the top button loose letting her fingers trail down his chest to the second one.  
“Tell me about carrying that buck back to Twelve…” she purrs.

He swallows, curses himself for feeling so rattled, but continues at her command. It’s a strange mixture of trepidation and excitement. She gives him a teasing smirk as button three, then four are released, but it fades into something more mysterious. No, not exactly mysterious, he thinks, his story long forgotten.

Gale knows the look of a hunter. The quickening of pulse, the narrow focus of the eye and the shallow breathing. But this is a switch. Other girls from his past were willing quarry of his pursuit. It occurs to him that the tables have been turned, and maybe he should be a little intimidated, at becoming the prey. His racing heart would suggest so. But such thoughts quickly vanish as Cressida’s hand slides inside his shirt at his waist and moves around his back smoothing over the skin that tingles under her touch, tugging the shirt loose.

With her other hand on his chest, she gently but with authority pushes him back down onto the cushions of the sofa, his head coming to rest on the upholstered arm.  
His breath catches as he senses a curious power that emanates from her slender frame. Even though Gale has at least eight inches and probably close to ninety pounds on her, he knows she feels his willing submission. His mischievous and amused smile confirms that she should continue.

As she hovers over him and slips the shirt back off his shoulders, the remaining buttons and shirt tail now free, he reaches up and runs a hand over the tattoos that grace the side of her head, down her neck, letting the loose neckline of her sweater fall off her shoulder, to finish the trajectory down her upper arm.

“I thought you were interested in my story,” he chuckles softly.  
“I am. I’m just trying to understand your hunting technique. Verifying for professional journalistic curiosity of course.”

Gale’s instincts tell him he shouldn’t like this reversal of roles, the hunter becoming the hunted.  
He closes his eyes as he feels her lips tracing seductive kisses along his collarbone.  
Cressida slinks up his body to rest her weight fully on his chest as she brings her face close to his. Their breath mingling as her mouth moves to within millimetres of his, waiting, enticing. Meeting each other’s gaze in anticipation. 

Gale slips his left hand around the back of her head, his fingers burrowing into the blonde hair that cascades over her right shoulder, his right hand at the back of her neck and draws her into a kiss, full of heat and passion, giving his answer. Lips parting, tongues exploring. His eyes are closed under her, his brow furrowed with the intensity of the moment. And in that moment he realizes that she has hit him straight through the heart. And what’s more, he really doesn’t mind…

…He really doesn’t mind, Cressida says to herself. Being surprised that she can be a hunter, too. Yes, she thinks as she loses herself in the flood of sensations. That buck didn’t even see it coming.


	2. Gale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a dark turn as the story delves into Gale's early history in District Twelve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my intention with Embers to stay as canon-compliant as possible. In this chapter, I've tried to explain the source of Gale's anger, resentment and insecurities. While Suzanne Collins did not reveal very many details of Gale's early life, I hope that my version fills in the gaps in a satisfactory manner.  
> This chapter is told completely from Gale's POV.  
> Trigger warnings: depictions of child-bullying and violence.

The nightmare is an old standby. He is six years old, alone behind the school before class starts. The townie is not alone in the dream. Another thing that never changes is the plot. The threats, physical intimidation and eventual beating when he resists, that lead to inevitably being separated from his meagre lunch.

Gale can feel a chill run down his spine even though the air is warm. He can feel blue eyes on him as he turns to head to the school’s front door, head down.  
“Where do you think you’re going, Seam?” the voice snarls behind him. “Come here, let’s see what you got,” says the boy with the signature blond hair of a merchant. A half dozen or so other townies surround the boy. He recognizes them all as being in his class, though he doesn’t know them, being merchants and all. Gale looks around fearfully, looking for an escape and catches his own reflection in a window, the face of a scrawny first-grader staring back at him.

The kid and a couple of his friends circle him like a pack of wild dogs, shoving him between them. The leader of this pack grabs his lunch and begins to inspect it.  
“That’s mine,” young Gale insists. All food is precious, and there’s no way he’s giving it up without protest. He’s answered by a rough shove to the ground.  
“Mind your superiors, Seam rat,” is the reply. When he gets up to try to take it back, he’s answered with a boot to his gut.

The taunting voice and the cruel words still echo in Gale’s memory.  
“Mind your superiors, Seam rat.”

It had only happened once in real life, but it had left an indelible impression. And he had relived it many times over the years in his dreams. The sense of helplessness and despair. Being left with nothing but bruised pride and a consuming sense of fear from being a runt compared to the other kids in his class at that age. Especially the bully who was much better fed.

The dream follows a familiar pattern, illogical the way dreams often are, with Gale transforming into a twelve-year-old right before the eyes of his townie oppressors. He’s no longer the helpless runt. He had grown tall and his frame is beginning to fill out, thanks to the wild game that his father has begun to mysteriously supply. 

Now it’s the bully who’s afraid.

Gale wakes with a start, his pulse racing and beads of sweat on his brow and upper lip. He lies quietly trying to calm his breathing and not disturb his bed mate. He glances over at Cressida, curled up beside him, concentrating on her even breathing to help steady his own. Reminding himself that those days are far in the past, and how that kid is long dead from the fire-bombing that obliterated District Twelve. It still bothers him that after all this time it can still make his blood boil to remember the humiliation and the assault he’d endured when he tried to defend his six-year-old self. How he only felt grim satisfaction when he finally confronted that kid six years later, the same day he’d signed up for the tessarae.

Gale quietly slips out of bed and heads to the bathroom to splash some water on his face. He contemplates his reflection in the mirror remembering that the face staring back no longer belongs to the pitiful Seam rat, but a respected officer of the new government of Panem. He grabs a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt and hastily dresses. Sitting on his side of the bed he thinks to himself, I should go for a run, it might help work out this anxiety.

“You okay?” the sleepy voice asks from the bed behind him.  
“Yeah, just a bad dream.”  
He feels Cressida move across the bed to where he is sitting. The pale early morning light is beginning to illuminate the room as he gazes out the window.  
“Do you get them often? What are they about?” she asks. All he gives her is a dismissive shrug. “You know I’ll get it out of you sometime,” she continues in a lighter tone. “Paylor’s hovercraft won’t arrive for hours. We’ve got time.” Gale remains silent. “Tell you what,” she continues, “I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours.”

Gale turns to face her and gives a faint smile in return. He considers her offer. He hates thinking about weak, defenceless Gale, let alone talk about him. But it might be good to get it off his chest. He’s heard that before from people, but it still feels like admitting weakness somehow, something he’s loath to do. He’s worked too hard over the years to put that Gale behind him, not that he’s been entirely successful, he realizes. That persistent dream testifies to that fact.  
He can see her face take on that determined expression he associates with her talent as a journalist and he stiffens.  
“I don’t want to be another one of your investigative reports,” he replies, failing to check the bitterness that he wanted to avoid. But he can see he’s too late, she felt it, too.

He slides up the bed and leans back against the head board. With a deep sigh he acquiesces by way of an apology and begins, “I was a little kid again, dealing with a merchant kid who threatened me.” He describes the memory to her in dispassionate terms, wanting to keep the painful emotions at bay. He explains how in the years that followed, he learned to keep his head down and blend in with the other Seam kids to avoid harassment. To not get caught alone. “Eventually, I had my younger brother, Rory, to look out for, too, when he started school,” he says.  
“But one day I’d had enough of hiding.”

Cressida, sitting up herself now, asks him to describe what happened.  
“It was a struggle for my parents, with three boys to feed. My dad managed to bring home wild game. We never were allowed to discuss how or where it came from. But I could hear my parents whispering. Wondering how they were going to make it work with our growing bodies and appetites. The day I turned twelve I knew what I needed to do. I didn’t ask permission, I just marched into town. I happened to see that town kid on the way home. I’d avoided him for years, but I wasn’t the scared, scrawny runt anymore. I’d had a growth spurt the previous year, about a foot of height and over fifty pounds, so I was now bigger than he was, bigger than all of the kids in my class. Still it didn’t stop him from sneering at me, calling me Seam trash when I glared at him. He probably felt secure with his friends around. I didn’t think twice.”

“What’d you do?” Cressida moves closer, her expression concerned yet captivated.

Gale replays it in his mind before answering. Fired by anger at signing up for the tesserae, and emboldened by his new size, he had dropped the tessera portion, and without hesitation crossed over to the bully, and punched him straight in the face. He knocked the kid to the ground and followed by putting boots to his tormentor, just like he had done to Gale years before. The shock that registered in the other townie kids’ faces was almost as glorious as the terror and pain he saw in that kid. Gale remembers the rush of adrenaline, and angry satisfaction he had experienced, but also a strange pit in his stomach. I’m just hungry, he had told himself as he picked up his supplies and made his way home.

Gale turns to Cressida and says, “I walked up and without hesitation, I beat the crap out of him.” He sees the look of shock on her face, but she says nothing. He doesn’t expect that she’d understand. What it was like to live with the slurs and fear. “I warned him if he tried to take anything from me again, I’d do worse to him, or anyone else who tried to stop me.”

“What about his friends? Weren’t you worried about them?” she asks.  
“No. In our district, you don’t go out of your way for others, except the people you’re closest to, family and only your most trusted friends. These guys were just the usual crowd of townies, hanging together more out of habit. Anyway, I was beyond caring, and was angry enough to take them all on. Actually, the Mellark kid held the guy’s best friend back.” “Peeta?”  
“No, his older brother, the one who was in the same class as me. He knew better than to interfere. Or at least he understood.”

“So not all the town kids were out to hurt you,” Cressida points out quietly.  
“Maybe not,” Gale concedes, “but it wasn’t like he helped either. In Twelve, you pick your battles. Sometimes that means fighting to defend what you have, sometimes that means minding your own business. And sometimes it means not making any more enemies than necessary.”  
Just because someone doesn’t go out of their way to hurt you, doesn’t make them your friend, Gale thinks to himself. Trusting is dangerous. 

“That was the day I signed up for the tesserae. I blamed that town kid and all his advantages over me, I blamed the Peacekeepers and the Capitol for having to do it. For putting myself at greater risk for the reaping. But I knew my family needed it. Even with my father working in the mines and bringing home extra meat whenever he could, it wasn’t enough.”  
“It must have been hard for them.” Cressida whispers.  
“I came home with the first allotment of grain and oil and my mother cried,” Gale says flatly.

“What did your dad do?” He feels Cressida slip her hand into the gap between the head board and his back, softly making small circles against his skin, a comforting gesture though Gale is barely aware of it as he relives the moment.

“He gripped me by the arms and gave me a look I’ll never forget. Something between anguish and fury. But he hugged me and the following weekend, I learned about slipping outside the wires and poaching game off Capitol land. He took me out trapping with him for the first time. Said that if I was man enough to take out tesserae for the family I was old enough to learn how to defend myself from the system by doing what was necessary. It made me feel proud and empowered. In the end, the Peacekeepers were some of my best customers. It gave me no end of satisfaction to have something they wanted, not to mention that it came from Capitol land they were supposed to be guarding.”

He goes on to explain how his father taught him about trap lines and snares, and how he discovered that he had a knack for devising more effective snares, surpassing his father’s abilities. Maybe it was due to years of reading the faces of all the potential threats he had encountered everyday around the school yard. He knew how to understand the enemy and what it took to get the advantage over them. Maybe out there in the woods the opponents were just animals. But really, what difference was there in the end? Whatever it took to gain the upper hand was the only rule. Who or what you needed to get the advantage over, was irrelevant.

“When my father died, I resolved that my chief priority was looking after my family. Just like he had done. I learned to use a bow to hunt, too, after I met Katniss. I wasn’t scared of the town kids anymore, and some of the Peacekeepers were okay, but I never forgot that the Capitol was my enemy. Every year the reaping was a reminder. I felt like it was my duty to defy them. I obsessed about taking down the system. It made me feel like I was doing something. But it never made me feel safer, just angrier.”

“Did Katniss feel the same way?” Cressida asks. At the mention of her name he feels a small jab in his gut.  
“No, she never said much about it one way or the other. I knew she resented the Capitol, too, but it was different for her.”  
“Why do you think that is?” Cressida’s arms encircle his waist, her cheek resting against his shoulder. Gale realizes he’s shivering and the warmth of her body pressed against him is welcome.  
“She was younger than me, plus in a way, she lost both of her parents when that mine exploded. She was mostly focused on just looking out for Prim and staying alive.”  
“How old were you again, when your father died?” Cressida seems to be working on something. “I was fourteen, just over six years ago. Why?” he turns to look at her, curious.  
“Um, nothing.” She pauses before continuing, “Okay, it’s something, but this is your story. It’s just something that occurred to me. But you finish your story first.”  
“There’s not much more to tell. We hunted, traded, survived. Made it through four more reapings, then at the fifth one after we became friends, Katniss volunteered, and well, you know the rest.”

“Not really, I know the official version,” Cressida says. “And I remember you telling us in that propo how you got these scars,” she whispers tracing her fingers over his back underneath his shirt.  
“Yeah, that was the day I realized just how powerless I was, anything I had accomplished in defying the rules, surviving the reaping, defending and supporting my family, it was nothing compared to what the Capitol could do. It was too big for just one person. All I wanted was to make them pay and I had no way to do it. I hated Katniss for playing along, after her first Games. I didn’t like her loyalty to Peeta, either.” He quickly shuts out those thoughts, though he can feel a wave of resentment building.  
“It wasn’t enough anymore to just poach off government lands. I wanted to hurt them - the Peacekeepers, the government, everyone connected to the Capitol and what they took from us, what they took from me.”

“I can’t imagine what it was like for you.”  
“No you can’t!” he snaps, immediately regretting the tone, if not the words. “You people in the Capitol couldn’t possibly understand what it was like to go to bed hungry, to fear for your life every time you did what you had to do to survive.” He feels her pull back, to look him directly in the eye.  
“I may not know what it was like to not have enough of the necessities, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have some understanding of what it’s like to live under oppression,” she says, her expression fiery under her usual cool composure. “You don’t have the corner on feeling powerless. And don’t think that we all just sat around cheering on the Games.”

Gale shares a long look with Cressida, but then her tone softens, as she breaks the silence, “I don’t want to argue. Can we agree that we both had reasons to hate the Capitol’s actions?”  
“Only if you can admit that there were a lot of Capitol citizens who sat on their hands while people in the districts suffered,” Gale responds.

Cressida nods, “I can accept that. But I hope when I tell you my side, you’ll try to understand what it was like for us, too. I’m not letting you off the hook.”  
He gives her a warm smile, “You remind me of my mother. Strong and determined.”  
“Well, I may be ten years older that you, but I want to assure you my feelings are hardly maternal where you are concerned,” she teases and settles back against his chest.

Gale’s smile widens into a toothy grin, “Oh, I’m perfectly aware of that!” He gathers her into a tight hug, grateful that the moment of awkwardness has passed.  
But then Cressida says, “Well, if you respect strong women, you won’t mind when I tell you how you’re still wrong that the rebels were blameless.” Gale remembers that argument from a month ago. Is she really dredging that up again? he thinks to himself.  
“What?” Gale asks. “How using everything we had to take on the Capitol was unjustified? How you all in the Capitol suffered, too? I heard you before.” He lets his arms go slack, releasing her from his embrace.

“It’s not just that, Gale,” she says sitting up to look him in the eye again. “It’s how you don’t seem to think anyone else deserves pity. What about me? I’m from the Capitol. Did I deserve to be blown away?”  
“Of course not! You were fighting on our side!” he says, amazed at the absurdity of her comment.  
“And what if I hadn’t? What if I’d stayed in the Capitol, afraid to take a stand because it might have cost me my life?”  
“You’re twisting things - people either supported the rebellion and our side or they didn’t,” he insists.  
“You just told me you know something about that kind of fear,” her wide-set eyes are piercing.  
Gale clenches his jaw. That’s a low blow and completely different, he says inside his head, suddenly weary of the conversation.

“Do we really have to get into this now?” he says as he extricates himself from her embrace and gets up from the bed.  
“No, but I’m not letting it go, and you know I’m right,” she says.  
Gale can feel his frustration rising, “I need to take a shower.”  
“Okay, but after, you listen to my side. Agreed?” she insists firmly.  
Gale nods and with a deep sigh, heads to the shower, lost in thought…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter we'll get a peak into Cressida's back-story, too. Oh, and things get a little 'steamy' with Gale, too!


	3. Cressida

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into Cressida's life before she joined the rebels in District Thirteen. Gale learns about the circumstances of his father's death. Told alternately from each of their POVs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains a mild sexually suggestive scene.

…Lost in thought, Cressida gets up from the bed and makes her way to Gale’s small kitchen. Helping herself to a glass of water, she thinks back to the moment she realized something wasn’t right in her world. As the memory comes flooding back, she remembers learning for the first time what fear looks like.

It was a little over twenty-five years ago. She was five-years-old, sitting cross-legged on top of her parents’ desk, looking at the photos her mother was putting together for the Fiftieth Hunger Games Victory Tour portfolio. Her parents had told her what an honour it had been for her mother to be selected to be the lead photographer to capture this prestigious event. Cressida was intrigued with the swarthy boy in the photos from District Twelve. But he looked different from when he did his interview with Caesar Flickerman for the second Quarter Quell six months ago.

Her parents hadn’t let her watch the Games. Being only five, they’d said she wasn’t old enough. But next year, Cressida thought, I’ll be more grown up. She would be starting school and everyone was required to watch the Games when they entered the Capitol’s school system. She’d been eager to see what she was missing, and disliked being told what she could and couldn’t do. 

Some things never change, thirty-year-old Cressida thinks as she reflects back on that time.

It had especially bothered her since both her parents had jobs that were so closely related to the Games. Her mother was a photographer, and her father was one of the creative designers of the arenas. He claimed the Quarter Quell arena was a personal triumph. Everyone raved about how beautiful it had been. Cressida had seen some of the pictures and had agreed. It was another reason she was angry that they hadn’t let her watch.

But as she contemplated the latest victor - she learned that Haymitch was his name - she could see he didn’t look the same as before. Like he was upset or something.  
“Why does he look so sad, momma?” she asked.  
Her mother turned pale and looked over at her father. Cressida didn’t understand what she had said wrong. They told her he was probably just tired from all the attention that came with the parties and the celebrations in his honour.

“But he gets to have all his wishes,” Cressida insisted, remembering what her parents had told her about how the Victors were rewarded.  
Later that night though, she over-heard their whispers. “They killed them all!” her mother said in hushed tones. “I know what I saw in District Twelve.”  
“Best to keep it to yourself,” was all her father had to say in response. But young Cressida only saw a mystery that needed to be solved. Who had been killed? And who had done it? And despite what they had said to her earlier, she also heard the fear in their voices. It reminded her just a little of the expression she saw in that boy’s face.

As Gale turns on the shower, Cressida considers this old memory. At the time it hadn’t been much more than a curiosity, she’d had no reason to understand fear in her young life, but knowing what she does now, the horror of life in the districts was all too real. She reflects on Gale’s story as she places the glass in the sink with last night’s dishes. He’s justified in his anger, growing up in District Twelve, but she also knows that actions based on anger never accomplish anything but create more pain. She has her own wounds to prove it.

The Gale she had fought side by side with was an effective soldier, to be sure. But she also knows that the ruthlessness that lived inside him had only brought harm to others, not to mention it wasn’t healthy for him. Also, Prim’s death had especially affected him for some reason. She saw the occasional outbursts of temper when they talked. The worst one had happened back in District Two last month, when her words hit too close to a truth he didn’t want to face. But underneath it she also can see the pain and hurt. And the beginnings of guilt, though he isn’t ready to admit it…

…He isn’t ready to admit it. That anybody in the Capitol could possibly relate to life in the districts. Gale feels his frustration at this endless feedback loop when talking to Cressida about it. Well, she could tell him her story, but he doubts anything she has to say will change his mind.

Gale steps into the shower once the water gets up to temperature. He still marvels after all this time at such luxuries. Placing both hands on the smooth tile wall, he closes his eyes and lets the hot water wash away his tension. Even begins to smile thinking back on the past night. Who would have thought that someone like Cressida would be interested in him, he wonders. Beautiful, smart, confident and irresistible. She might be annoying as hell, but he has to admit there is something undeniable about her. Something that seems to look right through him. It’s odd though, he thinks, that as mad as she makes him, there’s some part of him that welcomes it. She’s able to somehow confront him without condemnation. Makes him feel safe somehow. Accepted. 

It’s only a couple of minutes later when he feels hands running up his back, making him startle. A shiver runs through him, despite the steamy water, as Cressida’s arms encircle him from behind, her cheek coming to rest between his shoulder blades.

“Relax, it’s just me,” Cressida purrs seductively. “I thought you’d appreciate the company.”  
Oh definitely, he thinks enthusiastically, but he isn’t about to give her the satisfaction, her comments earlier, still on his mind. “I don’t know, I kind of like having room to move,” he replies, feigning indifference.

“What?” Cressida pulls away as he steals a glance over his shoulder at her. “You don’t honestly expect me to use the shower on my floor that I have to share with twenty other people?” she pouts in false outrage. “Besides, I’ll make it worth your while.” He can’t help but smile, feeling, as much as hearing, her sultry tones.

“I’m still mad at you,” Gale states petulantly. Cressida tightens her arms around him again, pressing her body against his damp skin. “I’m serious, Cress.”  
He feels her hand drift down from his chest across the plains of his stomach, feeling the muscles quiver under her touch. “Still?” she asks demurely.  
“Yes,” he replies, but with less conviction.  
He feels her lips as they press against the scar of an old wound on his shoulder blade, as her hand drifts lower, “Still?” she murmurs again.  
“Damn you,” is all Gale can say by way of reply.

An hour later, Gale makes his way back upstairs with an armload of breakfast items. Cressida’s cryptic comment about the mining accident has been itching at the back of his mind since earlier this morning. He’s determined to ask her over breakfast what she was talking about. She’d have to have a pretty convincing story to change his mind about anything, regardless of her feminine wiles. He checks his watch, only 8am, three hours before he is required to be at the hospital site to welcome President Paylor. At least they still have lots of time…

…Lots of time, Cressida tells herself. She is just opening the door to her unit to fetch a clean set of clothes for the day while Gale picks up their breakfast, when Pollux emerges from his room. He raises his eyebrows and pinches the loose sleeve of the sweater she’s wearing from the night before. ‘Have fun last night?’ his eyes ask.  
Cressida rolls her eyes before giving him an impatient scowl, ‘Don’t even start.’  
Pollux silently chuckles and in a surprising gesture, gently squeezes her arm, gives her an affectionate smile and nods as he leaves to head downstairs for breakfast. Cressida is actually astonished to realize that she’s blushing. Apparently, whatever it is that she’s got going with Gale has affected her more than she realizes. She quickly changes and heads back upstairs to #720.

A while later, Cressida sits beside Gale at his kitchen’s counter that serves as a table for his unit, sharing a meal of eggs, bacon and fresh fruit. What a treat to have citrus fruits again, now that trade has resumed between the districts, she thinks.

“Alright,” Gale states emphatically, placing his fork down on his empty plate along with the napkin. “I promised I’d listen, so I’m listening.” He leans back in his chair, arms crossed defensively across his chest.  
Well that’s a great attitude, Cressida thinks reflexively, but keeps her irritation in check, realizing that Gale is worried about having his views challenged. No, she thinks, this requires patience, and a personal touch.  
“Let’s go sit in the living room, it’s more comfortable,” she suggests standing up and offering her hand.

Once they’re settled she begins by telling him the story of how she first learned about Haymitch. Gale’s walls seem to fall almost completely at mention of District Twelve’s victor, curiosity winning over suspicion. “So you knew about what happened to his family and girlfriend even before Finnick revealed how Snow controlled people. What he confessed in that interview during the rescue mission,” he states.  
“No, my parents never spoke of it, but as I got older, eventually began studying journalism at university, I heard the rumours, and saw the pattern of behaviour in other victors.”  
“But your parents knew and they did nothing,” Gale says and she can hear the accusation in his voice.  
“Trust me, I saw my parents as complicit in the system. They knew better, saw beyond the Capitol’s twisted lies about life in the districts, but they didn’t openly criticize it. For some reason, up until that moment, it was like what happened inside the arenas was just entertainment for them. They saw kids willingly kill each other. They had accepted that it was necessary for the good of the country. But murder outside the Games made it real for them somehow. They tried to distance themselves from it. My father left his job as designer for the Games to become an architect. My mother never put her name into the pool for Games photographer again. But for me, as I grew up, all I saw was cowardice.”

Cressida sees Gale’s nod of agreement, but she knows there’s more to say about it.  
“Now that I’m older, I think they were in denial, didn’t want to know. They were afraid of losing what they had, worried about me. At the time, as far as I was concerned, there were three kinds of people in the Capitol. There were those who believed the system was fine and right, and either actively supported it or lived in brainwashed ignorance. There were those who suspected or knew more, but chose to ignore it out of fear, like my parents did. And then there were those few who recognized it for what it was and chose to take a stand.”

“And you joined that last group,” Gale says, the approval clear on his face.  
“I had suspicions and you know me, I don’t like unanswered questions.” She is rewarded with a knowing smile for that. “It’s what started me down the path of developing affiliations with subversive people when I left home. I began to seek out others who shared my views. Very hush-hush mind you.”

But it wasn’t that simple, Cressida thinks to herself. People got hurt because of me, people I cared about. But now isn’t the time to bring that up. There’s still more story to tell first.

Gale’s face reflects a degree of respect, but she sees his posture lean towards her, a question clearly on his mind.  
“You asked me earlier how old I was when my father died. Said there was more to it. What don’t I know?” he asks.  
Cressida takes a deep breath, considering how best to tell him.

“When I was twenty-four, I was working for the Capitol’s central news authority. I hated being a part of their communications system, pumping out their propaganda, but it allowed me to make contact with people in positions of influence. Not all of them were on Snow’s side,” she explains.  
“I wasn’t able to use my information in my reporting, of course,” she continues. “It was strictly for personal ambitions, for the cause. We all knew it was going to take time and some kind of catalyst to take down the system.”

Cressida pauses before continuing, a wave of regret washing over her. “My chief informant was Marcus. He was an Assistant Director of Communications in the government, and secretly on the rebel side. Like me, he knew the best place to get information was close to the source.” Cressida can see Marcus’s face like it was yesterday.  
“He was having a particularity bad night one time when I stayed over, and he finally told me…”  
“What? Wait… You were at his place?” Gale gives his head a shake, his eyes wide with questions.  
Cressida can’t fully suppress a smile at his response. “Gale, I had a life before you, you must know that?”  
“Well, yes, I guess,” he manages to say. Cressida is amused by how easily he’s distracted by this revelation.  
Gale continues, “So this guy, he was more than just an informant.”  
“Yes,” she answers wistfully. “I loved him. He was older, almost my father’s age. He was smart, articulate and most importantly, shared my views on Snow and his regime.”

She goes on to describe how Marcus revealed to her that his department was placed in charge of tracking and reporting on suspected rebellious activity. Peacekeepers in the districts had planted bugs and Marcus’s department had closely monitored conversations. There were concerns in the government about potential uprisings taking place in various districts. District Twelve was one of them. They had traced it to mine workers, how there were talks of sabotaging coal production, overpowering the minimal Peacekeeper presence. Certain songs being sung with suspicious double meanings.

“You’re talking about Katniss’s father, aren’t you?” Gale says.  
“I suppose. Though he wasn’t alone. There were others who were prepared to defy the Capitol, too.” She looks at him purposefully. “Your father didn’t have a problem breaking the law by hunting on Capitol lands,” she says watching Gale closely.  
“He did what was necessary, just like me…” Cressida sees the dawning realization. “Yeah, my father would have been involved. Anything to take on the Capitol,” Gale says and she can see the pain, caused by the explosion that claimed his father on that horrible day, reflected in his eyes.

Cressida takes a deep breath and continues. She explains how Marcus described to her how Snow ordered a crackdown on all suspicious activity in the districts. It was swift and severe. Ironically, the plan to sabotage the mines in Twelve became the Capitol’s strategy. Only it took the life of key instigators in the district and ended up punishing everyone else with the loss of income from the shut down.  
She reaches out to touch Gale’s shoulder gently when he drops his head into his hands, as he processes this revelation. “Your father did the best he could against an impossible foe.” 

“But it didn’t work,” he replies. “It just made things worse. And I’ll bet the Capitol had stockpiled enough coal that they never even noticed,” he adds bitterly.  
“It didn’t go well for those of us who silently supported you, either.”  
“Oh really? And how exactly did it affect you?” she can hear the cynicism in his voice.

“I was determined to get the story out, create outrage in the districts, galvanize support. I didn’t care that Marcus swore me to secrecy, that he said nothing good would come of it, how the country wasn’t ready. I thought I knew better. I was clever. I knew how to cover my tracks digitally when I sent out a viral message over the network.”  
She can see Gale’s admiration, but continues quietly, “It didn’t last long and it was quickly deleted, described as a technical error. But I was proud that I had at least done something.”

“Yes, good for you, for having the courage,” he says.  
“No, Gale, not good for me,” tears pooling in her eyes, even after all this time. “What I failed to appreciate was how easy it was for them to determine who was the source of the leak. They didn’t need to find me. They tracked the information back to Marcus’s office, found incriminating evidence on his home computer. The next day he was arrested, and within forty-eight hours he was dead. And it was my fault.”

Gale’s look changes from admiration to shock, or maybe something more like recognition. Tears now spilling from her eyes, Cressida continues, “He never turned me in. He protected me right to the end. After that, I knew he was right. If the rebellion was ever going to be successful, the time had to be right, and those of us who wanted it, had to be much more careful, less reckless. It meant continuing to support the system on the surface while covertly making contacts and building a coalition of defiance underground.”

Gale reaches out, and with a ragged breath she allows him to take her in his arms. After a few minutes, he asks quietly, “What happened to your parents, Cress? After Katniss blew out the arena dome and you fled with Plutarch and the others?”  
She shakes her head. “I didn’t have time to warn them, to get them to come with us. Plutarch told me just before he went with Haymitch to retrieve Katniss. We were all evacuating and I wanted to go get them before taking the first hovercraft out, but I couldn’t. I found out later through our spies left in the Capitol that they were picked up by the Peacekeepers. They died, too, because of me. Because the authorities learned I was part of the rebellion.”

“But they didn’t support the rebellion. They chose their side.”  
“Does it matter though Gale? They were afraid. They did what they thought was best, even if they were wrong. They had the misfortune of being related to me. They were still my family, and just like Marcus, their blood is on my hands.”…


	4. The Capitol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gale begins the process of examining his actions during the war. And he and Cressida grow closer when he visits her and his family in the Capitol.

…’Their blood is on my hands.’ Cressida’s statement of guilt persists in his mind as Gale stands at attention, watching President Paylor as she speaks. Cressida had reminded him again of their argument from a month ago about what happened in District Two, about how they’d captured the Nut. And now he can’t disconnect it with what happened to his father and the other miners when they had been on the receiving end of such an act.

His own words echo in his head, “So what are you saying? We shouldn’t have fought? Just let the Capitol rule over us forever?”  
“No,” Cressida had answered. “But it’s why we can’t just look at the most effective strategy and the goal. There has to be consideration for the cost. Allowances made for those on the other side who are caught between opposing forces they can’t control. Draw some lines in the sand.”

She had looked unflinchingly into his eyes, demanding that he hear her, “Something that reminds us that we are better than the people we wanted to overthrow.”  
Gale had felt his blood go cold as Katniss’s words from District Two came flooding back again. He can still remember the accusations in her eyes. Now it’s accompanied by the pleading from Cressida for him to understand.

It gnaws at him. Katniss had claimed that her two trips into the arena had changed her. How is it that Cressida’s words seem reach him where Katniss’s had just angered and frustrated him? Her assertions from a month ago have taken on new meaning with the revelation of her story this morning. Maybe that’s it. Or maybe it’s just something about her.

The ceremony with President Paylor in District Eight is serious but not solemn. The president expresses a hopeful message. A fresh beginning for the district and the country, while paying respect to those who perished in the rubble beneath what will become the new hospital. A memorial to those who were lost.

But Gale’s thoughts remain preoccupied with Cressida. He scans the audience, looking towards the section reserved for the press and finds her in the crowd along with Pollux as they record the event for the Capitol’s central news provider.

Paylor takes a moment after her final statements to come over to Gale and thank him for how he and Katniss had helped out during that horrific raid being memorialized today. She mentions that Katniss was invited to attend, given a temporary waver in her travel restriction, but that it had gone unanswered by her. She asks Gale how she’s doing, and he answers truthfully that he doesn’t know. 

The president’s intelligent face scrutinizes him closely. It occurs to Gale that as one of Coin’s generals, she must have known of his plan last year to take down the Nut. And therefore how he was prepared to destroy everyone inside in order to take control of District Two for the rebels. It’s a remarkable thing that she has entrusted him with his job in District Two in light of that fact. She simply nods, and thanks him for his hard work in her home district. He thanks her for the chance to be a part of restoring the hospital that had such personal significance to him in the war.

She surprises him by adding, “We’ve all seen and done things we’d like to forget. Everyone who goes through what we all went through deserves a chance to rebuild what they destroyed.”  
He can’t help but think she’s talking about him. He feels a loyalty and gratitude that she is willing to give him this chance. It reminds him of how Cressida makes him feel.

After shaking Paylor’s hand, he makes his way over to Cressida and Pollux. He tells them that if they’re willing to wait until he finishes up his farewells to the rest of the departing dignitaries, he’ll accompany her and Pollux to the station.

The president is whisked away to her waiting hovercraft to return to the Capitol and while the podium is being disassembled, Pollux and other members of the press scurry away to transmit their footage to the news headquarters in their various home districts.

Not long after, as the train begins boarding, Gale sits opposite Cressida in the waiting lounge of the station. He reaches across the table in between them and takes her hands in his. His thumb traces over her wrist where the vines peak out from under the sleeve on her left arm.

“I promise to think about what you’ve said,” he says. He gets a smile in return.  
“Gale, it’s only because I don’t want this to eat you up inside. I’ve been there too, you know,” she replies gently.  
“I know,” he answers. “I’m going back to D2 soon, now that the military’s involvement isn’t required anymore for the cleanup. The civilian construction teams and engineers will take over from us. There’s still so much work to do back at home base, clearing the Nut. The president wants me back there.”

He takes a deep breath before continuing, “Ever since our talk, I can’t help remember how I was prepared to kill them all, just like the Capitol did to the miners in my district along with my father.” He thinks about how unnerving it has been working so closely with people he was willing to bury in rock less than a year ago. Maybe that was the point Paylor was trying to make by sending him to Two.

“Like I said, we all have things to atone for. Your work here and back in D2 is a good start, don’t you think? We all need to let go of the anger, start seeing us all as one country.”  
He nods, feeling exhausted and wanting to change the subject, “When will I get to see you again?“  
“I don’t know,” Cressida answers. “I’m going to be in the Capitol for the time being. Plutarch wants me back at the Capitol’s Central News Headquarters, just like you’re being sent back to D2. He’s barely accepted the idea of the districts having their own news outlets, even if they still answer to him,” she adds, rolling her eyes. “One step at a time, I tell myself.”

Gale realizes that he’s going to miss her. The thought of saying goodbye must show on his face because Cressida leans towards him and gives him a lingering kiss on his cheek.  
“Don’t worry,” she whispers in his ear, squeezing his hands as the final boarding announcement is given. “We’ll work it out somehow.”

He feels his heart lighten at that. Perhaps no longer relying on random encounters and crossed paths as the only way they see each other going forward. That she’d actually purposely want to spend time with him regardless of their schedules and responsibilities.

Cressida gets up and they walk out onto the platform beside the train. Gale hands her her bag as she steps onto the train, “Besides, D2 and the Capitol aren’t too far away from each other,” she says and gives him a wink. The train’s door slides closed and she disappears from sight.

Two weeks later, Gale walks up the stairs to the entrance of the ornate apartment building and takes a deep breath of the early morning air. It’s going to be a hot day, but at this hour it’s still fresh and dewy. Not like back in the woods of District Twelve perhaps, but the Capitol’s mountain air is invigorating. He drops his bag beside the door, feeling a rush of excitement as he takes out his mobile communicator instead of pressing the door’s buzzer.

He’s wrapped up his work in District Eight. But he has several days off before he returns to duties in District Two. And he has plans on how best to use them. He’s managed to keep his visit secret even from Cressida’s nimble prying mind, he thinks with satisfaction. She’ll still be in bed this early in the morning and he isn’t surprised it takes five rings before he hears her sleepy voice.

“This had better be good at this hour,” she mutters with mild displeasure.  
“Depends on what you consider good. I’ve been very busy working on a surprise for you,” he replies trying to keep his voice from giving him away.  
He swears he can hear the smile in her voice, “Is that so? Well then I guess I’ll have to forgive you. You surprising me. Hmm, I’m intrigued,” Cressida yawns. “So what have you been so busy doing for me?”  
“Why don’t you come downstairs and find out.”  
Gale can hear the phone disconnect and footsteps rushing down a flight of stairs. She flings open the door and he flashes her his best smile. She’s wearing an oversized t-shirt and shorts, her face flushed, but she immediately strikes a bored pose, one hand on her hip the other leaning against the door jamb. “You should really give a girl notice, I’d have dressed appropriately.”

“Yes, you are entirely way too overdressed,” he responds throwing his bag inside the door, scooping her up over his shoulder and kicking the door closed behind him.  
Cressida lets out a shriek of laughter, “Hey!”  
Gale looks around the foyer, seeing it for the first time, swinging her around as he looks from side to side.  
“Where do I want to go?” he asks coyly.  
“Upstairs, down the hall, last room on the left,” she utters breathlessly.  
He smiles broadly at the invitation, “I’m beginning to think you like me.”  
“Oh Mr. Hawthorne, I’m so in like with you, you have no idea!” she teases back as he makes his way up the stairs.  
He strides down the hall and runs his hand over the fabric across her back. “Isn’t this my shirt? How’d you manage to get it?” he asks with mock scorn.  
“I stole it from your room in D8,” she declares defiantly. Gale tosses her on her bed.  
“Well then, you’d better take it off and give it back,” he replies and joins her.

A while later, Gale nuzzles his face in the crook of Cressida’s neck, as she lays on her back softly snoring. He has his arm and leg tossed over her possessively, taking in her scent as she sleeps. The scent isn’t familiar, must be some kind of exotic flower. He can’t help but remember Peeta at the first Games joking with Caesar about the Capitol’s showers. Definitely something to check out later this morning. He glances at the clock, almost 9am. She murmurs softly, and he feels a rush of warmth as he protectively draws her close. He falls back asleep, wondering about what they will do with a whole long weekend together.

Later that morning, as Cressida turns on the coffee maker in her kitchen, Gale announces from the kitchen table, “I want to check in on how my family is settling in. Oh I’m sorry,” he apologizes realizing Cressida was about to say something at the same time.  
“I was just going to ask what you wanted to do with a whole weekend in the Capitol, but this is news!” she says with a wide look of surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me your family had moved to the Capitol? I’d have gone to help them get acclimatized.”  
“Because I wanted to be there when I introduced you to them,” he answers.  
He sees Cressida gaze at him in mild confusion, “But Gale, they know who I am, we met back in D13.”  
“Yes, but not the ‘you’ that knows me in our present capacity.”  
“Why Gale, how formal of you. You’re sounding more like a bureaucrat all the time. And how exactly do you interpret our ‘present capacity’?” she crosses her arms across her chest and leans back against the counter.

The wry smile on her face has an unexpected effect on Gale. He is stopped short by her question. It seems obvious to him, but they haven’t ever really discussed it.  
“Why? How do you see it?” he asks in reply. It hadn’t occurred to him that things might not be mutual. All of a sudden he feels an insecurity wash over him. Old feelings regarding Katniss come flooding back. He’d taken that one for granted, made assumptions, and look how that had gone. Rejection, resentment, conflicting expectations.

“I see it as something that should be shared with family,” she replies, easing his troubled thoughts.

At his mother’s new home, Cressida learns what brought Hazelle and Gale’s siblings to the Capitol. Thanks to Octavia, former member of Katniss’s Prep Team, Hazelle has found work in a local spa that also fabricates its own line of soaps, candles and related therapeutic and beauty products. The company wants desperately to expand into the districts, so Hazelle has enrolled in business school, while learning the craft at work, in anticipation of opening a branch in her home district. Cressida also learns about Rory’s wish to study chemistry and pharmacology at the Capitol’s university once he completes high school. He dreams of returning to District Twelve to work at the new medicine plant that is being built there. 

The three youngest Hawthornes begin to clear their dinner dishes, and while they are in the kitchen, Hazelle, Cressida and Gale sit at the dining table visiting.

“Well, Rory and I plan to return to Twelve, but I wouldn’t be surprised if my youngest two ended up returning here,” Hazelle laughs. “Octavia has Posy convinced that she should become a dancer in the Capitol’s Ballet. And Vick can’t get enough of all the excitement here, they both love the wonders of the big city. Who would have imagined it?”

“And how about your oldest?” Cressida asks looking over at Gale. “Where’s home for you?”  
“Yes,” Hazelle looks at her son, too. “How do you like D2?”  
“It’s where my job is,” Gale answers noncommittally.  
“Well, Gale has always found the woods to be his sanctuary, growing up. Hunting, tending his traps and snares,” his mother says to Cressida.  
Gale recalls hunting with Katniss, the thrill and satisfaction of returning to a successful trap line, when suddenly he’s no longer remembering the woods in Twelve. He’s underground, in Special Weapons in District Thirteen, working with Beetee. Describing an effective way to lure in prey and how they could translate that into a weapon. He feels a wave of nausea wash over him.  
“Hey, where’d you go just now?” Cressida’s voice teases. “Your mom just asked you about dessert.”  
“Huh? What? I’m sorry, got lost in thought for a moment. What did you ask?” he inquires of Hazelle.  
“Which pie would your prefer - blueberry or strawberry?” she asks.  
“Both,” Gale responds trying to sound jovial. 

But as his mother leaves to join the rest of her family in the kitchen, he sees that he hasn’t fooled Cressida. She reaches over to touch his arm. “Are you okay?” her voice sounds concerned.  
Gale just shrugs, “I was thinking about unpleasant things.” He pauses for a moment and turns to Cressida, his eyes searching hers, “Am I a bad person?”  
Cressida responds softly, “Where’s this coming from? It must be a pretty dark place you just went to.”

“It’s like what you said back in D8 about having blood on your hands. How do you live with it?” he asks earnestly.  
Cressida takes a deep breath, serious now. “We take it one day at a time. And Gale, we are more than just the bad things we do. You did many great things, too. Looking after your family from such a young age under horrible circumstances, you were a loyal and valued friend to Katniss during your years there, too. You helped save hundreds of lives during the firebombing and risked your life for the sake of the Mockingjay and the rebellion. Those aren’t bad things.”

“But I also let people down, did damage,” he sees Katniss’s angry, accusing eyes. “What if other people never see it that way? Never forgive?”  
Cressida leans in close, her hands resting on his forearms, “We can only do what we can do. What others choose, well, we just have to accept that. It’s not perfect, we aren’t perfect. We just focus on the good things. Try to change ourselves for the better.”

As they eat dessert, Posy pulls out her colouring book to show Cressida. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” she asks brightly.  
“No, Posy, I’m an only child, and my parents were killed in the war.”  
Posy seems to be working on a deep thought before she speaks again.  
“Are you Gale’s girlfriend? Is that why he’s staying with you instead of us?” she asks earnestly.

Hazelle raises her eyebrows, teasing him gently, “Yes dear, please tell us all about it.”  
But Posy’s next remark takes them all by surprise, “Because you could get married and become part of our family since you don’t have one anymore.”  
Gale chokes on his food, Rory smirks and Vick looks shocked. They know that Cressida is a former squad mate, and he’s been wondering how to broach the topic of their new relationship. But the words he had memorized earlier suddenly escape him with his little sister’s pronouncement.

Fortunately, Cressida answers for him, “You’re so sweet, Posy. Gale and I became friends during the war, but I decided I like your brother more than just friends. Is that okay with you?”  
Posy thinks intently for a moment before replying, “Yes, I like you, too. I think your tattoos are pretty.” She picks out a green felt marker from her supplies. “Could you draw some vines on my arm like yours? But with flowers, too. My name means ‘flowers’, you know.”

Cressida looks over at Hazelle for approval. Hazelle nods, “It’s pointless to argue with her once she gets her mind set on something. Just like her big brother.” She gives Gale a teasing glare. “Besides, I want my children to understand and accept others. Life is so different here in the Capitol. Posy has certainly had no trouble adjusting though.”

“That’s because Posy likes anything bright, colourful and sparkly,” Gale states, grateful that the topic of discussion has shifted from his marital status.

Cressida turns to him, her offended expression barely concealing her smirk, ”Is that how you see us Capitolites, Gale - bright and sparkly?” Hazelle joins Cressida in staring down her son, making Gale feel ten years old again.  
“I’ll clear the rest of the dishes,” is all he can think to reply, as he picks up the dessert plates and heads to the kitchen. 

But he can’t help overhearing his mother when she tells Cressida, “You’re good for him. I haven’t seen him smile or laugh for such a long time.” He realizes he is actually smiling as she says it.  
“I’m glad you approve,” Cressida replies warmly.  
“Well,” Hazelle continues with a chuckle, “you should know that Gale stopped asking for my approval years ago. He’s always been stubborn and headstrong.” He realizes he hasn’t heard his mother laugh in a very long time either. Vick adds, “He’s just like Posy. You can’t tell them anything.” Everyone laughs at that. 

Apparently, Cressida is good for all of us, Gale realizes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gale is taken to a dark place in the next chapter, when he is faced with the memory of Prim's death.


	5. Prim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A nightmare forces Gale to come to terms with his past. And Cressida learns the truth about the Capitol bombing that killed Prim.

That night, tangled up in Cressida’s comforting embrace, Gale is drawn into the world of dreams again. He finds himself back in District Twelve. He’s sixteen years old and watching with anticipation to see the reaction on Prim’s face when she sees the gift Katniss has brought her. Prim’s face lights up with excitement when she sees the goat and she takes the animal in her arms. There are tears of joy in her pretty blue eyes and Katniss is beaming in response. Gale is enthralled, caught in the aura of love between the two sisters at this tender moment.

Prim lifts her face from nuzzling the goat’s neck, and turns to gaze with love upon her big sister. A smile is radiating from her face, Katniss’s name is forming on her lips, when suddenly Gale sees that she no longer clutches the goat in her arms. Instead she holds a silver parachute.

And then the fire envelops them all.

Gale wakes in a state of terror, gasping for breath, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. He carefully extricates himself from Cressida’s arms, trying not to disturb her, gets up out of bed, and goes into the washroom. The wave of nausea finally overtakes him and he throws up. After rinsing his mouth out with water, he splashes his face and backs away from the mirror until he reaches the wall. He slides down along the smooth tile until he’s sitting on the floor. He runs his hands over his face, reminding himself to breathe, willing himself to get a grip. 

Cressida lightly knocks on the door, “Are you okay?” He hears her husky, sleep-tinged voice.  
“Yeah, I must have eaten something that disagreed with me,” he replies trying to calm his voice as he clenches his eyes closed trying to block out the image of Prim on fire.   
“When did you get such a delicate constitution?” he hears Cressida tease. When he doesn’t answer, her voice changes to worry, “Gale?” She opens the door. 

One look at her and he raises his hands, burying his face in them, trying to stop the shaking that is gripping his body. He feels her pulling the hands away from his face and he sees the pale blue eyes that can read him so well.   
“Just another bad dream,” he says, trying weakly to deflect her concern.  
“Gale, this isn’t good,” she states decisively. “These nightmares and whatever it is that’s causing them. You really should talk to someone about this.”   
“You mean a head doctor?” Gale scoffs at her comment, turning his face from her.   
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” she replies. He feels the steadiness in her tone and he is surprised at how calming it is.   
He exhales deeply. “I’m tired, I just want to go back to bed and forget about it for now.”  
She sighs in reply, stands up and offers him her hand to join her. But she stops him as he makes his way back into her room and says, “Alright, but tomorrow we talk.”   
Gale can see the determined expression in her face, but has no energy to fight, so he just nods.

He lies on his back in the bed, staring across the room at the painting on the opposite wall. It’s still the middle of the night, but the city’s lights from outside the window illuminate it in the constant glow. Ordinarily it would annoy him to be assaulted by this inescapable brightness, but tonight it’s welcome.

The painting is of an old stone building in a small clearing. It’s surrounded by trees and the structure looks like it was once strong, charming even, but now it is neglected, abandoned. It’s almost completely covered by vigorous vines, some kind of ivy from the look of it. It seems to invade every opening, joint and crevice in the structure. Gale wonders if the vines were removed, would the building even be able to stand on its own anymore, or would it crumble into ruin. The structure almost seems to disappear into the background, camouflaged by the green blanket that blends so well with the rest of the environment.

Cressida’s head rests on his shoulder. She reaches across him to caress the far side of his face, eventually turning him to face her. She tilts her face up towards him, kisses him gently on the cheek and rests her forehead on the spot. Her hand falls back down to lie on his chest and he feels his heart beating under her touch, the arm a comforting weight on his body. It’s the same arm with the vines. Gale closes his eyes and visualizes them extending around him, tangling him in their embrace. Like gentle snares encircling his body, enveloping him.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, sleep now,” she whispers dreamily. His breathing and heart rate slow and sleep finds him again. But all he can see in his dreams is Katniss’s grey eyes staring back at him. Accusing, cold and unforgiving. He shivers and tightens his hold around Cressida imagining those vines swallowing him up until he is lost from view. And he imagines that it’s himself that is disappearing, invisible and safe, into the forest of the painting…

…The forest of the painting is the first thing that Cressida sees when she wakes up the next morning. The bed is empty, no light is on in the washroom and a sense of foreboding washes over her. She gets up and quickly dresses and makes her way downstairs. As she enters the living room she sees Gale, his back to her, sitting in an arm chair staring out the window. The relief that she feels is short lived though when she crosses the room to see his face. His eyes look unfocused, his expression is grim.

She comes around in front of him slipping between the chair and the coffee table. She sits down on the edge of the table directly in front of him and places her hands on his knees. She puts her face in his line of sight, asking him to see and acknowledge her. His eyes finally reach her and she sees nothing but misery and she feels a pain in sympathy, but doesn’t know what it’s for.

“How long have you been sitting here?” she manages to whisper.  
“A while,” he answers flatly. It isn’t much, but at least he’s talking, she thinks.   
She’s wondering what to say next when Gale says, “I went for a walk. I had to see the spot.”  
“What spot? Where’d you go?” she asks, curious.  
“The President’s Mansion, the City Circle,” his voice is guarded, as if he’s reluctant to say more.  
Cressida realizes that he must be thinking about Prim and the horrible parachute bombs. But why this reaction, and why now? We’ve both lost people we cared about, she thinks, and it isn’t like this is the first time Gale’s been back to the Capitol since the end of the war.

Cressida is familiar with the rumours, she’s always been attuned to them. It wasn’t a well-guarded secret that Coin had proposed another Hunger Games, a plan to reap Capitol children for another arena. Prim’s death at the hand of Snow’s treachery was followed soon after with this barbaric betrayal of everything the rebellion stood for. It’s believed that these two events are what finally turned Katniss into the ‘shell-shocked lunatic’ who assassinated the rebel president. She wasn’t the only one who learned that Coin had a dark side. But why this effect on Gale? Obviously there is more to this story.

“What don’t I know, Gale?” she asks quietly but firmly, determined to get this out of him once and for all.  
“That what you said about me isn't true, about us being the same. I’m worse than you, because you didn’t purposely try to kill anyone the way I did. Marcus, your parents, they were unintended casualties.”

Cressida considers this, but she is also troubled by Gale’s state of mind. She senses that this is the thing that has been disturbing him for so long.  
“How are we different Gale?” Cressida asks. “Is it because of the Nut? Because the rebels and the D2 people were fighting against each other. We were at a stalemate until you came up with that plan.”

“But it was more than that, Cress. Those workers in the Nut, I didn’t care whether or not they could be won over to our side. They were miners, like back home, people I should have felt some empathy for. Katniss showed mercy, she put her life on the line to convince them to join us.”  
“She got shot, too.”  
“Still, her actions saved lives. She didn’t just write them off as expendable.”

“War is like that Gale. Sometimes you have to make cold and strategic decisions,” Cressida attempts to explain. “We did things to help our side to win even though it crossed some ethical lines. But, Gale, war is messy. We were always walking on the edge.”

“I don’t get you. The other day you were arguing about lines in the sand,” he snaps. She picks up on the hint of anger in Gale’s voice.  
“I still believe in that,” she replies.  
Cressida finds herself searching to find a way that he can make some peace with it. Explain how he’s wrong in his complete self-condemnation and that he’s not alone in experiencing deep regret, despite what he claims. “But I’m not innocent here either. How many lines did I cross? What do you think I was doing when I helped produce those propos? Do you actually think I was producing impartial journalism? It was propaganda. How much of it was informing people and how much of it was manipulating them? We were persuading people to take up arms, put themselves in harm’s way for the sake of the rebellion. Made them believe a seventeen-year-old girl could be their leader by creating an image of Katniss for the people to rally behind. Even Katniss wasn’t exactly given a lot of choice from the rebel leadership in D13, for that matter. It was all for a justified cause, but we were still playing on peoples’ emotions to get them to do what we wanted in order to achieve our goals. And there was nothing unintentional in that.”

“But they still got to choose to follow or not.” Gale points out. “And Katniss has a way about her, she always has. Those people from D2 listened to her. We willingly followed her, ourselves, in the Capitol after Boggs was killed.”

“That’s another thing, Gale. I had a gun just like you, and used it when we were on that mission,” Cressida adds.   
He dismisses her point by explaining, “Anybody you shot was either gunning for us or got caught in the cross-fire.”

Cressida probes, “So tell me, Gale. You still haven’t explained to me how you’re worse than me. We both fought the enemy, we both made choices that ended up hurting people, intentionally or not,” she declares firmly, but she can’t ignore this feeling of dread that no matter what she says, she’s going to lose this argument.  
“What is it that’s eating you up inside, causing these nightmares?”

“Don’t you see?” Gale’s voice is rising now. “It’s not what I did, it’s why I was willing to do it. It was personal for me. As far as I was concerned, those workers in the Nut were against me just like that merchant kid who stole my lunch. He wasn’t a threat to me anymore, on that day when I signed up for the tesserae. But I still beat him up. Just like with him, I wanted to hurt those people in D2. It wasn’t just about a strategic win for the rebels. Those workers in the Nut represented anyone who stood in my way, or tried to hurt me, or take things from me. The Peacekeepers came from there. They represented the Capitol who abused us in the districts, the ones who nearly whipped me to death.”

Cressida can feel that this is leading to some kind of confession. Gale seems to surrender to whatever it is he’s been fighting.  
He continues, “But it’s not about the Nut, Cress. It’s all part of it, but it’s something else.”  
“What is it Gale? Tell me.” Cressida insists, leaning in, gripping his arms. He pauses, and Cressida can see him struggling with the words, with something very uncomfortable. But before she can enquire further, Gale says it.

“I killed Prim.”

The words hang heavily in the room. Cressida’s mind is spinning, trying to make sense of it.

“What on earth are you talking about?” she finally demands, her voice rising in distress. “Gale, you’re not making any sense.” Cressida feels confusion and dread welling up simultaneously inside her. “How does any of this have to do with Prim’s death? Snow killed Prim, along with all those Capitol children, trying to attack the medics and rebel responders,” she insists.

“No, it was my bomb, one derived from one of my snare designs along with Beetee’s technical expertise,” Gale says with resignation. “Coin just made it look like Snow did it to cover her tracks. She wanted a quick finish to the war and she likely thought that the best way was to turn the Capitol’s remaining support against him.” 

Cressida can feel her heart sink at the revelation. “Did you know she was going to use it?” she finally manages to ask. All this information is overloading her ability to process.

He shakes his head. “But that really isn’t the point, is it Cress? I designed a weapon to target civilians, medics, children. They were no different for me than the animals I used to trap. I never intended it to be used on our own people, let alone Prim. But I did intend for it be used on the enemy. Because they were from the Capitol. But these kids weren’t soldiers, they weren’t fighting for the Capitol. They were defenceless and I designed a weapon that used them as bait. And I didn’t care.”

Gale takes a deep breath before explaining further, “They were all like me when I was six years old, without any choice, and no way to defend myself. But then I turned into that townie kid who threatened me. Only I was worse. I took more than their lunch, I took their lives.”

Gale pauses and looks hard into her eyes, his own glassy and desperate, “How did I start seeing children as the enemy? I can’t remember a time when I wasn't able to justify hurting others - that townie, the Nut - all out to get me, representing oppression in one way or another. But this was different. I think it’s what Katniss was trying to tell me about, how the Games changed her. She and Peeta understood how they were all just kids in the arena, pitted against each other, just trying to do the same thing - stay alive. Why did I start seeing the other side as prey, as nothing more than animals to be snared and slaughtered?”

Cressida sits quietly, words escaping her as she listens to Gale’s confession. “I’m not sure exactly when it happened, I didn’t even see it coming. Each action, every step a little easier than the one before, making it easier to justify my motivations. But eventually, somewhere along the way, I became immune to it. The people on the other side, just an obstacle to beat. The fact that any weapon I created killed the innocent was irrelevant because to me they were all guilty.” 

His grey eyes look like the colour of lead as he looks intensely into her eyes. “Now do you understand? That’s how I’m different from you, it’s how I’ve been for some time,” he sounds defeated, his voice flat, devoid of emotion, numb. He looks at her with the question in his eyes. The one she can see he won’t ask her.

Cressida is silent as she attempts to process all this information. Unable to find the right words. The cruelty of it is stunning and so unrecognizable to the man she has gotten to know these past few weeks. She gets up and tells him she needs to get some air and think. And she heads out the door.

She wanders the streets and alleys of the Capitol, equally oblivious to the buildings in ruined neighbourhoods she passes as the others left unscathed by the war. She ends up at the City Circle, sitting on a bench in the small park across from the President’s Mansion and runs it all through her head. Gale’s early life. Coin’s flattery and undeniable encouragement of his efforts. His brutal plan for taking down the Nut. The actions and the motivations. And back to Coin. How Gale was used. But he was a willing tool, too. It all makes sense now in a way it didn’t before.

The journalist in her is also fixated on who else was involved in the Capitol bombing plot. Coin didn’t act alone. Who else in government knew? Plutarch? Likely. Paylor? Her heart sinks at the thought. Too many questions, too hard to answer in her current state of mind.

But how do I feel about this? she asks herself. She knows Gale’s confession was devastating for him. He’s not the kind of person to ever admit vulnerability. And I walked out on him, she thinks with shame. He needed her to tell him how to make this right and she couldn’t answer. Can I get past this? she asks herself. Can Gale?   
Gale. She can see that lost look, defeated, full of self-loathing. And suddenly she’s worried. She rushes home, flings open the door and calls his name. But there’s no answer.

She checks the rooms downstairs, climbs the stairs to the second floor and her suspicions are answered. All of his things are gone. He’s gone.

Hazelle! She rushes downstairs and calls her number.  
“Oh hello, Cressida,” she says pleasantly. “How are you and Gale this morning?”   
She doesn’t know, Cressida realizes. “I don’t know where Gale is, Hazelle. He was upset, and left when I was out.” She tells her that Gale had some troublesome things on his mind and that he had finally told her about it.  
“What did he say to you?” Hazelle asks, a mother’s concern clear in her voice.  
Cressida is reluctant, however, to share this revelation without talking to Gale first. “I thinks it’s best if you hear it directly from him. I’m sure he’ll be in touch with you soon,” she adds trying to reassure her.   
“Okay,” Hazelle replies, but it’s clear to Cressida that she hasn’t been successful in diffusing her worry. “Will you call me if you hear from him?” Hazelle asks.  
Cressida asks her to do the same and they say good bye.

She walks out into the living room where she and Gale last talked, feeling an emptiness and sorrow for ruined lives.   
I left when I should have tried to help him, she keeps telling herself. Reassured him that they could fix this. But she hadn’t. And now he’s gone, taking his burden of guilt with him. She slides down onto the floor and begins to cry.


	6. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gale receives help and is reunited with Cressida. Cressida continues to seek the truth about who was involved in the Capitol bombing.

It’s been a few months since Gale walked out of her apartment in the Capitol. The summer is beginning to wane into fall, and Cressida realizes the best way to distract herself from recent events is by throwing herself fully into work. 

A week after Gale left, Cressida found out from Hazelle that Gale had returned to his job in District Two. He had told his mother not to worry, that he had things to work out on his own. Neither Hazelle nor Cressida could explain why he completely dropped out of contact with her. Hazelle claimed that when she came up in conversation, he only spoke well of her. Hazelle assured Cressida that she was always welcome in their home, that she still had hope for her and Gale’s reconciliation. She reminded Cressida that her son was still stubborn and a born survivor, and he had to do things in his own way.

Cressida is relieved to finally hear news about Gale when she visits the Hawthornes for dinner one day. She was invited to join them to celebrate Rory’s acceptance into the advanced college placement program in his high school this year. 

Rory mentions that his big brother is actually seeing a military head doctor. “Who would have ever thought Gale would admit to needing help from anyone,” he says with a smirk, but she hears a note of respect in his voice. She looks over at Hazelle and sees the relief that matches her own. Cressida teases Rory, informing him that he sounds more like a member of the medical establishment every time she sees him. That makes him glow with pride. 

She is filled with optimism for Gale’s sake, but shrugs when Hazelle hints that she still has hope for the two of them. Cressida tells her that she’s happy for his sake, but doesn’t want to give herself any false expectations. For now, she’s just content he’s getting the help he needs. But that night, all she can think about is the feel of his arms around her and the heat of his kisses.

Two weeks later, Cressida is finishing up details on a report while working at home, when the phone rings. Expecting her boss requesting an update, she hits the speaker phone and answers tersely, “I’m not done yet, just another half an hour and I’ll have it for you.”

Gale’s voice takes her by surprise. “Then I should call back later,” he states apologetically.  
She picks up the phone’s hand set, her heart pounding and says, “Gale! No, I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was you.” The words come tumbling out, “I’ve been so worried. I heard from your mom that you were back at work in D2. When you never called, I just didn’t know if you wanted to hear from me.”  
“I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. But I took your advice,” he says.  
Cressida smiles to herself, that he would give her credit for this, “Yes, I heard that, too. That you’re seeing a therapist.”  
Gale replies, “I got a recommendation through our military unit for a good head doctor. One who specializes in guilt and trauma from the war. But I’ve been talking about it all, even back to my early struggles in D12. You were right, it’s been helpful. But I still have further to go.”

“Gale, I’m so proud of you,” Cressida says with warmth, trying to moderate her exhilaration at hearing his voice again after so long. “I’m so sorry that you didn’t feel comfortable including me in it. That I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. I was so concerned when you left.”  
“I’m sorry about that. And that it took so long to call you. I just needed to work some things out first.”

They talk more about their careers and mundane things, when the topic of future plans comes up. Cressida tells him that she’s heading out to District Four in a couple of days on assignment.  
“I’m hoping to stop by and see Annie. She had her baby last month.”  
“Wait, Annie’s pregnant? I mean was pregnant? I never heard about that,” Gale says.  
She points out that as surviving members of the Star Squad, she feels like it’s their responsibility to look in on her for Finnick’s sake. Gale agrees.

She pauses before continuing. Cressida senses that they are both thinking about the same thing. How there are only five of them remaining from Squad 451. And one is still a big source of his guilt. She’s certain Katniss has come up in discussions with his therapist, but decides to let him tell her when he’s ready. She changes the subject back to her assignment in District Four, and the real question on her mind.

“You know, D2 isn’t that out of the way. I could take a few days off and swing through on my way home,” she bites her bottom lip, unsure what Gale’s reaction will be, hoping she doesn’t sound needy. Is it too soon? she asks herself.  
His answer sets her anxiety to rest, “I’d like that. No, I’d love that,” he replies. She thinks she can actually hear him smile over the phone.  
Cressida smiles back in return. “Then it’s a date,” she answers. “Gale?” she adds.  
“Yeah?” he answers.  
“I’m really glad you called. I’ve missed you.”  
There’s quiet on the other side of the line for a moment. “Me, too,” he says. “You know, thinking about you, it’s what got me through the last couple of months. Even before the therapy. I can’t wait to see you again.”  
Cressida can feel her heart swell. “See you soon,” Cressida whispers.  
“See you soon,” he answers, and she wonders if it’s longing that she hears in his voice.

Five days later, the train pulls into District Two. She shakes her head at how nervous she feels, like a silly teenager, she thinks with frustration. Pollux nudges her out of her distraction and points out the window to the platform. Gale is standing there waiting for her to arrive. Pollux strikes a love-besotted pose and Cressida scowls at him and swats him across his shoulder. He feigns pain at her assault, but then just smiles affectionately and holds up his electronic scheduler, ‘I’ll see you back in the Capitol for our meeting on Monday.’ They both get up when the train comes to a stop and he hands her her bag.

Suddenly, a wave of nervous anxiety comes over Cressida. Pollux gives her a supportive hug. ‘Go,’ he nods his head towards the door, and Cressida smiles and doesn’t need to be told twice. She steps from the train, uncertain how to greet Gale, but he takes away all her doubt by taking her in his arms in a warm embrace.

It’s the first time she’s been in his home in D2. The last time she was here, they’d simply met for dinner at a local hangout, and had that talk that had ended up in an argument. But that feels like a lifetime ago. He carries her bag inside and places it beside the door. Suddenly there’s a strange awkwardness between them, built upon months of separation.

Gale speaks first, “Did you eat anything on the train? We could go out and get something. Are you hungry?”  
“No,” Cressida replies, then feels a flood of heat rising inside her as she stares at him. She smiles seductively, “Actually, yes, but not for food.” She doesn’t have to say another word. He closes the the distance between them and she immediately begins tearing off his jacket, then his shirt. My God, she thinks, he looks good in that uniform. But with a coy smile, she thinks to herself, but even better without it.  
He responds in kind by tugging her blouse over her head and deftly unhooking her bra, tossing them both to floor.  
They both separate long enough to kick off their shoes, then Gale sweeps her up in his arms and carries her down a hall, kicks open the door to his room and sets her down on the edge of the bed.  
She reaches out and grabs the belt of his pants and quickly unbuckles it. She pushes them down along with his underwear. Gale steps out of his remaining clothes now fully naked in front of her.  
Cressida sighs and pulls him close, her arms around his waist and rests her cheek against his stomach. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed this,” she whispers.

He places his hand beneath her chin and tilts her face up to look into his grey eyes.  
“Yes, I do,” he says and she can see the full extent of the emotion in his voice and expression. More than lust, more than need. A deep longing and vulnerability that almost frightens her. He leans down and effortlessly pulls her up onto the bed under him and reaches down to remove her pants. The task completed, he looks back up at her flushed face and smiles before attacking her neck with playful kisses. 

Their laughter gives way to gasps of pleasure as she runs her fingers through his thick dark hair drawing him down to her breasts. Suddenly there is no fear, no worries for the past or the future. Just this moment and Cressida surrenders to it, only aware of the feel of him and the passion he awakens in her.

That evening as they sit together sharing a decadent piece of chocolate cake, Gale tosses a letter over to Cressida. She looks up at him expectantly. “What’s this?” she asks.

“I received this a few days ago. It’s from the War Memorial Committee. They’re canvassing everyone from District Twelve for suggestions for a statue design. They plan to unveil it the end of this year as part of the Anniversary ceremony in D12.” Cressida nods remembering all the buzz around Panem about celebrations marking the day, one year ago, that the Capitol fell and the war ended.

“Oh, yes. Annie told me she’s received the same letter requesting ideas for D4. Katniss’s mother got one for D12, too.” Cressida recalls their conversation. “She’s worried that everyone is going to want one of Katniss as the Mockingjay. She doesn’t think that will sit well with her daughter after everything she’s been through. She would have to deal with a constant reminder in the town square every time she walks by, when all she wants to do is move on with her life.”  
“I agree with her concern about the Mockingjay idea. Do you think it’s possible that could be selected?” Gale asks.  
“Yes, I actually think it is possible,” Cressida responds. “I checked around with some of my contacts in the government after Emely expressed concern for her daughter, and that does seem to be a popular choice. Are you thinking of submitting a proposal?” she asks.

“Yes, actually I am,” Gale announces. “And I’m curious to hear what you think of it.”  
Gale goes on to describe his idea. “I want to put the past behind us. It’s important to remember how we stood up to the tyranny, but I think it should be about what we lost and about the future. About the real reason why we had the rebellion.”

Gale’s meaning registers with Cressida. “You want to try to focus on the noble reasons for the war, not the hatred for the Capitol and Snow. Not glorify the symbol of the war.”  
“Yes,” he answers quietly. “Maybe in some small way I can start to make amends to Katniss by doing this. Help her to heal. Maybe she can even begin to forgive me.”  
“I don’t want to discourage you, but she might not be ready for that yet. Maybe not for a long time.”  
“Oh, I know that. But it’s a start. It’s for me, too, Cress. I want to let the anger of the past go. Focus on the future, as well. My therapist thinks it’s a good idea.”  
“Really? And you waited until you spoke to me before deciding, even though your doctor gave his approval? I feel pretty special,” she says with a smug smile.  
“Of course you are. I wouldn’t be here, getting this help, if it wasn’t for you.” The sincerity in his voice sends an unexpected ache through her.

“Well, I think it’s a great idea,” she says, composing herself. “But you’re going to have to make a compelling case for it, if my sources are correct about the polls showing support for the Mockingjay idea. I’d be happy to help you with the proposal and lean on a few people in government with whom I have influence.” 

Gale reaches over, kisses her softly and embraces her. “I knew there was a reason I fell for you,” he whispers in her ear.  
“Oh yes,” Cressida mocks as she pulls away to look in his face. “It was my persuasive words and influential position that attracted you.”  
“Um, hmm,” he murmurs running his hand down her neck, letting it slip beneath the collar of her blouse, “You are very persuasive and have complete influence over me.” She smiles back at him.

That night, as they lay in bed, Gale’s arm around her, her head resting on his chest, Cressida asks him, “Gale, how are you really doing? Back when you first called me in the Capitol, you said you still had further to go. What did you mean?”

He takes a deep breath before answering. “The therapist has helped me sort out the reasons for why I acted like I did, why I was so angry. But that still leaves the guilt. You said you still feel it, right?” When she nods, he continues, “I have to accept responsibility for my actions. Part of that is facing what I did here in D2, my plan to take down the Nut, but it’s also about what I did to Katniss, how I let her down. My part in what happened to Prim. And all the others who died.”

“Gale, I don’t want to dismiss what you did in Special Weapons in D13, but you have to know that if Coin wanted those kids dead in the Capitol, she would have found a way, with or without your help.”  
“Yeah, that’s another topic for discussion isn’t it?” Gale acknowledges. “But I’m not just talking about what happened to Prim. I wasn’t the best friend to Katniss when she needed me to be there for her.”  
“What do you mean?” Cressida asks. She genuinely feels curious at his comment.

“I got territorial. I saw her as something else that I deserved. I’d been her friend for years, helped her look after her family, like she helped me with mine. When Peeta came along, all I saw was another town kid taking something that was by rights mine. She came back from the first Games, and needed a friend. She was scared, the arena messed with her mind. And all I could think of was how come she suddenly elevated him to such an important place. I didn’t get it. When we were in D13, I thought maybe with Peeta out of the picture, she’d come to her senses. But deep down, I knew the truth. We all saw the footage of the Quarter Quell.”  
“You mean what happened at the forcefield,” Cressida says.  
“And on the beach,” Gale adds.

“But you were loyal to her as part of the Star Squad. You helped rescue Peeta from the Capitol.”  
“I was loyal to rebellion, and Katniss’s well-being was key to that. Like I said back at your place in the Capitol, she has a way about her. Then she assassinated Coin, and I was furious. Coin was our president. Someone I supported and who had supported me. It was only after, that I realized the truth about Coin and why Katniss did what she did.” 

“You don’t just mean the bombs that killed Prim. You heard about her idea to reinstate the Games, too.” Cressida states.  
“Yes, the rumours have been going around for awhile now in various departments of the military,” he acknowledges before continuing. “I know Katniss wanted me to kill her that day, before they arrested her. I’m glad I didn’t, but at the time my reasons weren’t very noble. We had had words before that, she blamed me for her sister’s death.”  
His voice grows quiet, “And all I could think about was how I had lost Katniss, because of what happened to Prim. I wasn’t prepared to admit my role in her death. I wasn’t thinking about Katniss’s loss. The next thing I know, she flips out and kills the wrong president, and all I could think about was that she made her choice, now she can live with it. I think I was relieved at the time to believe that she was the one who was in the wrong, not me. I know better now.”

“And you hope this memorial idea will help to make up for that.”  
“I hope I can do something to let her know that I’m sorry and that she was right. About Coin, about the war, and about choosing Peeta, too.”

Cressida lies quietly for a minute, thoughts about what happened last winter still preying on her mind. “Gale, I’ve been thinking a lot about Coin and how she used those bombs on the Capitol children and the medics. Why Prim was there in the first place. You said you think she did it to be expedient in the war effort. But you have to know it was a way to attack Katniss, too.”  
Gale nods. “I know that now.”  
“The thing is,” Cressida continues, “there’s no way she could have acted alone in that bombing. Who else knew? It was a military operation. Who else was in on it?”  
“I’ve wondered, too.” Gale replies. “And I have a feeling that you’re not going to let that story go until you have an answer,” he says with a measure of pride in his voice.  
Cressida smiles up at him, “You know I can’t let an important story go uncovered.”…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, Gale and Katniss see each other again.


	7. District Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cressida confronts the government and she accompanies Gale when he travels home to District Twelve.

…’I can’t let an important story go uncovered.’ Cressida’s words repeat endlessly in his mind as Gale sits on the hard bench in the hallway of the President’s Mansion. But he’s too anxious to stay seated, so finally he gets up and walks to the end of the hall and back again. He’s lost count of how many times he’s repeated this task. Or how often he’s counted the steps from the bench to the door of the meeting room and back again. Or watched the second hand of the clock go around another time. 

Finally the door opens and Cressida walks out, followed by a small contingent of dignitaries. All of them with grim expressions, as they walk past him, seemingly in a hurry to put this meeting behind them. But all Gale sees is Cressida, her face strained and eyes peering into his, communicating a combination of frustration and exhaustion.

He opens his arms and she sinks into his embrace. “Take me home,“ she whispers.  
He leads them out the front door of the mansion, out into the chilly December air, and down the stairs where he hails a car. As they sit in the back seat, Cressida curls up at his side, her head resting against his chest, her arms tightly clinging around him. 

He hugs her back and asks the obvious question, “How’d it go?”  
She looks up at him and shakes her head, “Not here, when we get back to my place.” That good, he thinks with concern.

Once they are safely inside Cressida’s apartment and the rest of the world is locked out, Gale sits her down on the sofa and brings her a hot cup of tea. Cressida takes it gratefully and wraps a knit throw around her shoulders to stop the shivering. He knows it’s not the temperature that is the cause, but the adrenaline from the hearing.

“Okay, we’re alone. You can talk now,” Gale says and takes his place beside her on the sofa, his arm around her shoulders. She leans into him and says, “I presented all my findings. Everyone who I traced back to Coin’s bombing plan. They listened.”

“But what did they say?” Gale asks. “Are they going to follow up?”  
“No, they say everyone involved was just following orders, a whole lot of bureaucratic political excuses about what’s best for the country in this early fragile period,” the disappointment pouring out of her.

She turns to look at him. “I wasn’t necessarily expecting people to be charged or prosecuted. But I wanted them to at least acknowledge what was done, make the guilty step forward and accept responsibility for purposely killing those children. To ask the people of Panem for forgiveness.”

Cressida takes a sip of tea and continues, “Paylor has agreed to make a public statement admitting that Coin ordered the bombing. She’s going on National TV two days before the Anniversary celebrations begin. I think Plutarch is hoping all the hoopla will drown out any controversy. But no one else who was involved will be named. They have been given immunity. They feel that ultimate culpability lies with Coin, and that if she takes it to the grave with her, that is best for the country’s sake.” Cressida gives a deep and weary sigh.

“At least that’s something,” Gale states.   
While Gale has had several months to deal with his part in it, there is still the lingering guilt that will not wash away. “Should I make a public confession?”  
Cressida frowns up at him. “You’d implicate Beetee, too. I’m not sure there would be any point if no one else is taking blame. I don’t think anyone in the government would approve of it anyway. They just want to get past it and focus on the task of establishing our fledgling democracy.” She peers into his grey eyes, “Can you live with that?”  
Gale shrugs and wonders if there is any appropriate answer to that question.

“Will there be any repercussions for you?” he asks. It had been his concern from the beginning when Cressida began her investigation, once it became clear highly influential people in the military and government were involved.  
“They assure me that if I keep this to myself, act with discretion, they will leave me alone. But I wouldn’t expect a promotion from Plutarch any time soon,” she says, the words dripping with sarcasm.

Gale knows Plutarch was one of the architects of that vicious, but effective, plan to bring a quick end to the war. Pushing Katniss over the edge, by letting Prim join the medics on that fateful mission, was just a convenient side project of Coin’s to sabotage a potential political threat.

“They assured me that these kinds of actions are a thing of the past, and they’re committed to a more ethical standard of behaviour,” Cressida says and Gale can hear just a hint of skepticism in her voice.  
“But at least Paylor wasn’t involved,” she adds with relief. “I’d hate for our first democratically-elected president to be tarred with this. She was the one who made it possible for Katniss to find out about it by allowing her to speak with Snow before the execution. As a high-ranking general, she apparently figured it out.”

“So how do you feel about sitting on a story like this?” Gale asks.  
“I told them that I would keep my evidence confidential. They still confiscated my computer at the hearing and Plutarch declared that they would be going through my files at work as we speak. I told him I didn’t need hard files, it’s all in my head and that I’ll be keeping an eye on them all. If they step out of line, the story is just a quick upload away,” she says defiantly.

“Cress! You shouldn’t threaten these people! What if they don’t trust your promise?”  
“Plutarch knows me well enough to know that I’m good for my word if they keep theirs. The thing is Gale, it‘s my responsibility. This new government, someone has to keep their feet to the fire, otherwise what did we accomplish? It’s my duty to not let them get away with this kind of thing. It sets a bad precedent for a free democratic country. I guess we still have a long way to go.”

“You’re amazing, you know,” he says with admiration. “Panem is lucky to have you. And so am I,” he tacks on, squeezing her close.  
“Oh, I forgot to mention, Gale, with this hearing on my mind,” she says sitting up suddenly. “I heard back from Peeta about the Memorial unveiling in D12. He says Katniss refuses to attend, says it’s too stressful. But he plans to be there with Haymitch. The mayor has asked Peeta to do the unveiling and he’s agreed to that. I’m sorry that Katniss will miss seeing the unveiling of the statue.”   
Though it isn’t a big surprise, Gale can’t help but feel the disappointment that she won’t be at the ceremony. But at least the memorial will still be there after I have left District Twelve, he reminds himself.  
“You worked so hard on getting it selected.”  
“So did you. It wouldn’t have happened without you pulling some strings.”

“I hinted to Peeta rather strongly that if there’s a chance Katniss can be there, it would be worthwhile.”  
“What about your request for an interview with Katniss?” He sees her pained expression. “Yeah, I guess not,” he says, answering his own question.  
“I understand it, Gale. She and Peeta spent so much time under public scrutiny. But if she keeps hiding away, the press will find her. Their curiosity will get the best of them. I could give her some cover. If I have exclusive rights to the story, the vultures would have to leave them alone, because I was the only one with access. Despite my differences with Plutarch, he still controls the media and he’ll enforce my exclusive status.”  
“Maybe she’ll change her mind when we get to Twelve for the celebration,” Gale adds encouragingly.  
“We make a good team,” Cressida says dreamily.   
Yes we do, Gale says to himself.

They sit cuddling as the snow beings to fall outside, soaking in the peacefulness of the moment. Gale picks up a corner of the throw around Cressida. It’s a kaleidoscope of multicoloured flowers. “This thing is going to burn my eyes out, it’s so bright.”  
Cressida pulls away, “Hey, your sister gave that to me! I happen to think it’s delightful. She’s delightful.”  
“Well I think the feeling is mutual. Posy hardly has time for any of the rest of us.”  
“It’s a girl thing,” Cressida states. “She wants us to go get facials and our nails done at your mom’s spa tomorrow.”  
Do you think you’ll go with everything that’s been going on?”  
“After the week I just had, I could use a spa day. I’d love a good massage.”

“You know you don’t need to go to a spa for that.” He holds up his hands for examination.”I have all the tools right here and they love nothing better than to bring you pleasure,” he grins broadly.  
“Hmm, sounds enticing,” Cressida purrs, snuggling back against Gale’s shoulder, nuzzling his neck with her lips.   
“I can’t believe we both have the rest of December off. I hate that we don’t get to spend more time together,” she whispers huskily.  
Gale slips his hand under the throw, “Well I guess after we attend the District Twelve Anniversary celebrations, we could just get on the train, disappear, see where it takes us.”

“That sounds like a nice fantasy,” she replies with a sigh. “Run away from our jobs, no responsibilities, just you, me and those talented hands of yours,” she adds, and he can feel the tickle of her mischievous grin against his neck, making his heart race. He bends down to give her a long, slow kiss, letting his hands explore further as Cressida draws him down on top of her while she reclines back on the sofa.   
But as he surrenders to their shared arousal, Gale can’t help wondering about what the future really could hold for them.

The day of the Memorial unveiling in District Twelve is cool and overcast, but the buzz around the town square is mostly positive and anticipatory. Gale finds all the restoration work going on to be both exciting and disturbing. His old home is feeling less and less familiar to him. It’s been well over a year since he was last here and it feels almost foreign. Even so, standing in the town square, old memories linger. No amount of new construction and fresh paint can erase the ghost of a whipping post embedded in his consciousness. He looks longingly out beyond the edge of town, towards the woods in the distance.

Cressida nudges him and he looks up to see Peeta and Haymitch arriving. He, Cressida and Pollux wave them over to join them up front where they have reserved seats. While Cressida enquires about how they all are doing and the five of them exchange pleasantries, Gale finds his attention is diverted as he stares in the direction of Victor’s Village. It looks like Katniss really won’t be here after all. His disappointment is palpable.

The ceremony commences, Pollux gets up to film the event while the mayor gives his speech. Then Peeta steps up to the podium to do the unveiling. Gale can feel his heart catch in his throat. He wonders if he did the right thing. If Katniss will understand. Before he can give it another thought, there is a gasp from the audience, murmurs and finally even a bit of somber applause. But all Gale can see is Peeta’s reaction at seeing the statue, his tears when he realizes what it is. This granite figure of Prim, young, beautiful and innocent. He feels Cressida reach for his hand and give it a squeeze and nod supportively. 

I just wanted them all to know, Gale thinks, to understand the cruel price of the war and the real reason we had to have it. For all the Prims of the future. No more Games, no more senseless deaths. And how very sorry I am that I played a part in the darker parts of it. He sees Haymitch join Peeta and the two of them comforting each other as they weep at that sight of the memorial.

Then a wave of anxiety washes over Gale as he second-guesses himself. Did I just open up more wounds? he asks himself. The final rendition of the national anthem plays and Cressida, still holding tight to his hand, leads him over to join Peeta and Haymitch. Fortunately, Cressida does all the talking, because he’s distracted, having a hard time focusing on their conversation. When suddenly he feels familiar eyes on him. Her eyes. It comes with the territory of years of finely-tuned hunting coordination with someone who knows his next move as well as he does himself. Almost instinctive.

Katniss is standing beyond the crowd, partially obscured behind one of the large pieces of construction equipment. They lock eyes. He expects the cold, unforgiving glare, but he sees only sadness and pain. Maybe this statue of Prim was a mistake, he thinks. He turns back to his small group to see if anyone else has seen her, but they are oblivious. When he looks back, Katniss is gone.

“I need to go for a walk. Will you guys excuse me? It’s been so long since I was here, I need to check things out,” he explains. Cressida asks if he wants company, he shakes his head and tells her that he’ll catch up with her later at their room in the set of buildings acting as temporary accommodations.

He doesn’t have to think about where he is going. As unfamiliar as the town is to him now, these woods are unchanged and his destination feels like a magnet drawing him forward. He arrives at the rock ledge and Katniss is already there, sitting and gazing out over the valley, just like so many times in the past.

“I knew you’d come,” she says without turning around.  
“I must be losing my touch,” he says. “I used to always be able to sneak up on you without you hardly noticing.”   
“Or maybe I’ve just gotten more wary,” she replies.  
Gale takes his familiar seat beside her. The snow is beginning to fall. He absently catches a large snowflake on his hand. Perfect, delicate and unique, and he thinks of Prim. Then it melts from the heat of his hand and he drops his head down to stare at the ground.

Katniss turns to him for the first time. “That was your doing, wasn’t it? The statue. It’s the reason Cressida tried to convince us to be there for the unveiling.”  
He nods without answering, finding it difficult now to say the words he had planned to say if he got the chance to explain.   
I’m so sorry Katniss, his mind cries out where his voice remains mute. When he finally looks up at his one-time hunting partner, he sees the barest evidence of a smile. Not happiness, but maybe gratitude, he thinks.

“It was a good choice,” she says and he feels the lead weight on his heart lift a bit and lets out a deep breath.   
“I just wanted you to know. How you were right, what you tried to tell me back in D2, all of it,” he utters remorsefully. “My choices ended up killing Prim, hurting you. I didn’t understand how it all comes back to you, what you do to others. And I just wanted everyone to remember her, how because you loved her, you volunteered. Without that, we wouldn’t be free now. She was important.”  
He pauses, the words finally surfacing while he struggles to maintain his composure, feeling the weight of his own sadness. This isn’t about me, he reminds himself, this is about Katniss. “I’m so sorry.” It feels completely inadequate now that he’s said it.

They sit quietly, finding the silence more comfortable than words. When he finally speaks again, Gale tells her of his regret at not being there for her all the times when she needed a friend. She reminds him that he was the one she wanted by her side in the Capitol, and that she’d let him down, too.   
“How? By not killing me when I got grabbed by those Peacekeepers?” he says. “I returned the favour, remember?” They both stare at each other for a moment and then share a chuckle.   
Gale tells her about his family, and Hazelle and Rory’s plans for when they return to Twelve in the future. Then Katniss announces, “Peeta and I had the toasting.”

“That’s news! Not that I’m actually surprised.” Gale searches his emotions and realizes all he feels is relief. Katniss and Peeta moving on, together. The way it was meant to be. “I’d have thought the moment you signed the papers at the Justice Building, the story would spread across Panem like wildfire,” he says, inwardly wincing at his choice of words. 

“Peeta and I haven’t filed any papers,” Katniss states defiantly. He can hear the cynicism and distrust for the government in her voice.  
“So it’s still not official,” Gale declares.   
“It’s as real as it gets,” Katniss insists. “We don’t need any government’s authority after what we endured.”   
He can’t say he disagrees, even if things are slowly getting better. “Then that’s all that matters. The toasting was always most important for us in Twelve anyway. I’m happy for you. Truly. For you both.”  
Katniss turns to face him, peering intensely into his eyes. As if she can see into his very soul, it feels to Gale. Which she probably can. She seems to be attempting to determine his sincerity. She nods, apparently getting the answer she hoped to find.

Gale continues, “Cressida deserves a lot of credit for the Memorial, too. The statue would probably have been of something else, except for her persistence.” He feels his face warm with the pride he feels for her, despite the brisk air.  
“She appears to be more than just a creative collaborator,” Katniss says and Gale sees the hint of a smirk on her face.  
“Yeah, she’s been amazing. Helped me to see what I needed to see, convinced me to talk to a therapist.” Katniss's eyebrows rise in surprise.   
“Not you, too?” Gale says. “Apparently everyone thinks it’s impossible for me to acknowledge, let alone ask, when I need a little help.”

“I saw President Paylor speak a couple days ago on the television,” Katniss states. “Revealing to the country that Coin was guilty of the bombing that…” her voice trails off and Gale can see that she’s trying to maintain her composure. “Did you have anything to do with that?”  
“Only that I confessed to Cressida about my role in designing the weapon. She deserves the credit for her investigation and forcing the government to come clean that it was Coin and not Snow. She wanted to do more.”

Gale looks at Katniss and when she turns to meet his eyes, he asks, “Do I need to do more? Can I do anything to make this right?”   
Katniss just shakes her head and doesn’t speak right away. After a long pause she says, “Give it time, Gale. I can’t yet. And especially not today.”  
Gale nods. It’s not just the anniversary of the end of the war. Today marks a year since Prim died. Yes, he thinks, it’s going to take time. For both of them.

“It’s getting late,” Katniss announces after a moment of reflection. “I should get back before Peeta worries about me.” She gets up, but hesitates before turning to leave. “Do you want to walk back together?”   
He can tell she’s only asking to be polite. He senses that she’d prefer some time alone to ponder their conversation. “No. I think I’m going to just sit here for a while longer. I don’t know when I’ll be back to see this place again.”  
“Well don’t stay too long, it’ll be dark soon,” she says and he’s touched by her concern.  
“You know as well as anyone that these woods are imprinted in my mind. I could never get lost, even in the dark. I know how to take care of myself out here.”  
“Yes, I know.” She pauses again. “Gale?”  
“Yes?” he takes his eyes away from the view and looks up at her.  
“Tell Cressida I’ll do the interview. But only because it’s her. And because of what she did helping you with that statue honouring Prim. And with making Paylor coming clean about Coin. But only if there are no cameras.”

“You know Cressida will do everything in her power to protect your privacy. It’s why she offered to be your exclusive contact with the press. It’ll keep others from harassing you and Peeta.”  
Katniss nods in appreciation, “You should both come over tonight, Pollux too. We’re all that’s left of the Star Squad.” Gale nods in acknowledgement.   
“So, I’ll see later?” she asks.  
“Count on it,” Gale replies with a smile and the next thing he knows she’s disappeared from view, obscured by the veil of falling snow. He spends the next half hour looking out over the valley, the details gradually obscured by the white snowfall, and in his mind he says good bye to this part of his life. He stands and pulls up the collar of his coat against the chilly air and makes his way back to town as the last rays of daylight disappear…


	8. The Thing About First Loves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cressida and Gale contemplate the future.

…The last rays of daylight disappear as Cressida makes her way down the narrow passageway of the train car. They had eaten an early supper, or maybe it was a late lunch, with Pollux right after they boarded the train for the return trip to the Capitol. In her hand is a light snack from the dining car to tide them over until breakfast. When she enters the small room, Gale is reclined on the bed of the compact room. He is looking out the window watching the last of District Twelve disappear behind them. Outside, in the deep twilight, everything is a blur of dark greens and blues. There’s not much to see in this light to capture Gale’s interest, and she can see he’s lost in thought.

Their visit to his home district had gone so well, Cressida thinks. Gale has a lot to feel positive about. The way the people of District Twelve had received the statue of Prim. Even his reunion with Katniss had gone okay, probably better than Gale had hoped.

Cressida replays it in her mind. Her interview with Katniss and the promise to let her have final say on what gets published. Getting to review the Memory Book that Peeta and Katniss have created, and how much it meant to Pollux that they had dedicated a page to his brother, Castor. And all of them talking and acting like old friends. Which was especially important to Gale.

She was surprised and pleased to see that Gale managed to have a private conversation with Peeta, too. He had offered to help Peeta clean up their dessert dishes as a way to take him aside, while the rest of them reviewed the Memory Book and discussed the new developments in Panem. She had also noted Katniss’s furtive glances toward the kitchen where they talked, no doubt wondering, just like her, what they were discussing.

When he and Katniss said good bye, after a moment of hesitation from both of them as they wondered how to conclude this visit, Gale had kissed her on the cheek, which she had accepted. ‘Take care, Catnip,’ he had said and she had told him to do the same.

I got my interview, Katniss and Peeta are happy, she tells herself. The Star Squad reunion had been so appreciated, despite the circumstances that had originally brought them together, and the losses they had shared. Yes, thinks Cressida, it was a successful visit for me, too.

Gale seems pensive as he lies on the bed, his arms crossed behind him, his head cradled in his hands, as he stares out the window at the passing scenery. Cressida wonders if it has anything to do with his talk with Peeta.

“I thought that it all went well, for everyone,” Cressida declares as she crawls up onto the bed beside Gale. “I think we have several things to feel happy about. You seem to have at least made some kind of peace with Katniss. You even got some one-on-one time with Peeta. You must know I’m very curious about what the two of you discussed.”

“I wanted to thank him,” Gale says. “When I was starting therapy, trying to come to terms with what I did, wondering how I was ever going to put it behind me, I couldn't help but think of what he went through. How devastated he was when Mitchell died,” he releases a deep breath, “and by what he did to Katniss, almost killing her when Boggs died. I know it isn’t the same for me, because I knew what I was doing. Peeta was struggling with the effects of the hijacking. But still, he came through it. Regained that part of himself that was good and decent.”

Cressida brushes his hair back from his forehead and says, “Yes he did. And Katniss didn’t give up on him. It wasn’t easy for her, but even after he tried to kill her the second time, she helped him to remember who he was and gave him a reason to not give up.”  
Gale lies silently for a moment before continuing, “That’s true. All I could think was that it would be a lot easier for us if he was dead.”  
Cressida takes his face in her hands, “We were all concerned about Peeta. Don’t forget you also tried to help him, around camp, to remember his life back in D12.”

“I think it was the first time that I really started to see him as not just another merchant. Not just this guy who went into the arena two times with Katniss. Who, I believed, tried to take her from me, by protecting her when I couldn’t. But as a fellow survivor from my district. We shared a life in Twelve, even if we weren’t exactly friends. It was home for both of us, and he lost so much more than I did. But it’s taken this past year for me to understand what he and Katniss have, and how I wasn’t what she needed. I told him I regretted how I treated his relationship with her. How I was out of line.”

Gale turns back to stare out the window again, then says, “We also talked about how remarkable it was that he recovered. And incredibly, how much of it happened while we were in the middle of that mission. I told him that when I was in therapy, I thought if he can find his way back from something that horrible, I can do better, too.”

“You told him all that?” Cressida says. “That mustn’t have been easy for you.”  
“Actually, it was easier than you think. Because I met you,” he says with a smile and Cressida can’t help match it with one of her own at this admission.

He tilts his head to look at her, “Peeta made a choice to trust Katniss even if he couldn’t remember it all. And it reminded me that I have a choice, too. And yes,” he adds with a smile, “I told him about how if you hadn’t believed in me, things might have turned out differently for me, too. We both have remarkable women to be thankful for.”

Cressida lets out a contented sigh. “All in all, I’d call that a success. And on top of all that, we have,” she grabs his wrist and glances at his watch, “the next sixteen hours all to ourselves,” she whispers enticingly, drawing her body close to him.

He rolls over on his side to look at her, resting his head on his propped up hand and running his free hand down the side of her torso, sending shivers through her. 

“I don’t want to go back to D2 the end of this month. I’m tired of all the commuting back and forth, never getting to see you everyday. I wish we could just keep going, on this train.”

“Hmm, I remember us talking about that before we left for this trip,” she says as she entwines her fingers in the hand that has been awakening all kinds of arousal in her. “Something about you, me and these hands…” She leans over and playfully nibbles at his ear lobe.  
He laughs slightly, but says, “I’m serious, I hate being away from you.”  
“I know. And you know I feel the same,” she replies sympathetically.

“Cressida, I would move to the Capitol if it meant I could be with you. I don’t care where I go.” Cressida is taken aback by his declaration.  
“That’s a very difficult thing for me to imagine, Gale,” she responds leaning back to gauge the sincerity of his offer. “You living in the big city? Somehow that just seems cruel. I guess I could see about a transfer to D2,” she offers, considering the implications.

“That would be a step down for you. Anyway, would Plutarch approve?” Gale says laying his head down so his face is close to hers.  
“Who knows? He might be happy to have me quietly tucked away somewhere obscure. Where I wouldn’t be a constant reminder of how I can make his life difficult. But you’re right, D2 doesn’t sound very appealing.”  
Gale continues, “I’m grateful to Paylor for posting me in D2. It was helpful for me to get past my actions at the Nut, by working with and getting to know the people there. She helped me to at least try to make amends and move on from what happened. But it’s like the way I felt back in District Twelve. I want to leave the past behind.”

Cressida adds, thinking about Paylor, “We have more than that to be grateful for. I doubt I could have gotten that statue for Prim approved without her influence.”  
Gale nods, “We’re lucky to have her as president.”  
But Cressida sees what looks a little like sadness in his eyes. “Are you sure you aren’t feeling homesick for D12? Just like your mom and Rory?”  
“No, not really. It was strange being back there. So familiar and yet at the same time I don’t get the same connection to the place anymore.  “Maybe when the rest of your family returns, you might feel differently,” she suggests.  
“I think it’s more than that. Everywhere I look, I see reminders of fire, ashes, destruction. It’s all been swept away with the restoration taking place, but I can’t help sense it. Maybe it’s just too many bad memories mixed up with the good.”

“But there are other things left over from fires, Gale. New life springs from the ashes, you know that,” Cressida says, releasing his hand to run her thumb along his bottom lip.  
“Yes, but what is being built back up isn’t the home that I knew. Maybe that’s a good thing,” he responds and kisses that thumb.

“Another thing about destructive fires, Gale, when the big flames die down they sometimes leave embers. They aren’t destructive anymore. They can be nurtured and coaxed into something warm and comforting.”  
At her mention of such fires, Cressida becomes aware of a stirring of heat in between them, Gale’s hand now free to explore her body, making her catch her breath.

Gale gazes at her, and she can see the wonder in his eyes. “That’s what you are,” he says, his hand sliding tantalizingly underneath the hem of her sweater. “That’s why going back to D2 is so hard. I don’t know how to deal with that.”  
“Uhmm, what you’re doing right now is a good start.” She slips her hand behind his head, her fingers combing through his hair, and leans in to give a long, open-mouthed kiss to his neck, tasting him, her head swimming in the sensation.  
Gale suddenly goes still. Not getting the reaction she expects, she pulls back to look into his eyes, trying to read what’s going on in his head. His eyes are closed from her kiss but written across his face is the same expression she had seen for the first time back in his apartment in D2. A kind of vulnerability that makes her heart skip a beat.

Gale lays his head down on her breasts. Cressida traces her hand along his jaw line, feeling the rough stubble against her fingers. “We have a few more days when we get back to the Capitol. We’ll work something out.”  
“You said that at the train station in D8.”  
“I meant it there, too. But right now, we’re here and we have all this time and the rest of the world is somewhere out there. In here, it’s just you and me. So what do you want to do with this time?”  
She feels his hand running up along her leg, lightly brushing the inside of her thigh and feels a wave of desire.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he says, emotion clearly overwhelming him. She pulls his face up to meet hers and kisses him again, consumed with coaxing the embers of fire between them. And her need to take away any remnants of his pain.

Three weeks later, Cressida rushes home from covering the press conference with the president, following a meeting of all the district representatives. Paylor had spoken about the future developments for Panem and had asked for input from the representatives about where their priorities should lie. There had been discussion about the expansion of industry and trade, considerations for the management of resources, improving the health and welfare of all the citizens, and an idea had occurred to Cressida.

She calls Gale at his office in District Two, excited to share her thoughts.  
When he answers she breathlessly asks, “Can you get extra days off when you come to visit me this weekend?”  
“I think so. Why? What’s going on?” he asks.  
“Did you watch the press conference?” When he answers in the affirmative, she continues, “I think I have an idea. One that would be good for the country and would solve our living arrangement dilemma.”

She can hear only silence on the other end. “Gale?”  
“Yes I’m listening, I’m just imagining getting to wake up every morning with you. Tell me what you’re thinking.”  
“Paylor and the district leaders are pleased to see the development and growth taking place in the districts, but they’re also concerned about balancing this with the needs of the environment. They want Panem’s growth to be beneficial to the citizens, but also protect what we can for the future. So I want to propose that we establish some kind of national program that would set aside natural spaces in each of the districts. Preserve the environment for everyone to enjoy. And I think you should be the one to do it.”

“Me? Why me?” he responds.  
“Because, think about it Gale. Your job has been all about coordinating the military’s resources with the civilian population’s in order to help restore the country. You’ve already worked closely with people in the districts, addressing their needs in rebuilding industry and infrastructure. They need someone who can work with the various factions - scientists, technology, businesses, local workers. It’s something you’ve been doing already.”  
“Okay, but how exactly do you see me translating that in your scheme? What makes me the best candidate?”  
“Because you love the natural world. Your mom said it was your sanctuary. No one would do a better job at protecting it. You’d be the perfect fit.”  
Cressida knows he is considering her proposal as Gale remains silent for a moment.

When he continues, she is surprised it isn’t with questions about the implementation of such a plan but a personal question, “And how do you see this answering our being apart?”  
Cressida knows this is the harder part of the plan, but she bites her bottom lip and dives in.  
“It would be a national program so you’d be head-quartered here in the Capitol, at least to start. You’d be here with me and even your family, too, for awhile until your mom goes back to Twelve. But you’d get to spend lots of time travelling out into the country, in the woods, the mountains, deserts… all the precious places we’d want to preserve. So even though the Capitol would be home base, you’d still get lots of opportunities to be outdoors.” She hopes the compromise is enough for him.

She is relieved and surprised that when Gale finally speaks, it isn’t to express doubts about the arrangement. Instead he asks, “Do you think we could convince them?”  
“Do you know anyone else who can make a convincing proposal as well as me? Besides the fact that it’s a great idea that’s in line with what they want, I’m highly motivated to have you with me.” She starts mentally brainstorming her plan while she speaks the words.  
“Well I can’t argue with that,” Gale chuckles on the other end of the line. “Let’s do it.”  
Cressida answers, barely containing her excitement, “I’ll start working on a proposal right away and when you get here, we’ll finish it and take it to the president.”

Another pause from Gale’s end causes her to ask, “Gale, are you sure you want this? I know the Capitol isn’t your home, that you’d prefer to live somewhere other than in the city.”  
“No, it’s not that. I’m already thinking about how I’m going to give my notice here and how quickly I can wrap up my responsibilities in D2. It’s a great compromise, Cress. Thank you for figuring this out. Oh, and Cress?”  
“Yes?” she answers expectantly.  
“I can’t wait to see you.”  
Cressida’s smile is a combination of relief and excitement.

The next few months are a whirl wind for them. The government gives them the go ahead. Gale transfers to the Capitol at the end of January. They begin developing a strategy with the districts. Gale tells Cressida that he plans to enrol part-time in the university in the Capitol while the program unfolds so that he can learn what he needs in order to better understand his new responsibilities.

Hazelle completes her business program that spring and announces that come June she will be returning to Twelve to open up her branch of the spa business. As a family, on a particularly warm spring day, they share a picnic lunch in the park near Hazelle’s home. And they map out their future plans for the Hawthornes. The rest of Gale’s siblings will join her for the summer. Rory to work in the new medicine plant as part of his summer internship before returning to the Capitol in the fall to begin his university program. It is agreed that since Vick and Posy do not wish to leave the city and are well established in their schools, Gale and Cressida will move in to their home in the fall and take on the responsibilities as guardians. It pains Hazelle to be apart from her children, but Rory will go back to Twelve on all his breaks, along with his younger siblings. 

That night back in their own home, Cressida thinks about opportunities for her and Gale as well. Where they could ultimately end up. She thinks about what direction her career could take. And for just a moment she wonders about where this life together will take her and Gale on a personal level. But for now they will be needed here in the Capitol, while Gale’s program gets up and running, and until Vick and Posy finish school. But after that, she thinks, we could go anywhere…

…We could go anywhere, Gale thinks. But where is home now? He considers the possibility of a fresh start for both of them in a new and unfamiliar place. Some day perhaps, for now he is content to focus on this new venture. It’s been a long week, he’s had meetings with district leaders listening to their proposals and hopes for their districts. It had been productive and Gale was excited seeing the plans come to fruition.

He should be consumed with his success, but as they make their way upstairs that evening, he tells Cressida all that he can think about tonight is how happy he is to be here with her, no longer counting the hours until the train takes him away from her.

Gale can see that she is moved by this, because as she begins to undress, she tells him how much he means to her, how he has brought meaning and purpose to her life beyond the rebellion that had consumed her for so long. How she feels about building something based on a future full of promise and possibilities. How grateful she is to feel part of a family again.

He ponders his siblings, and wonders where they will all eventually end up with their individual aspirations. For now they are all here in the Capitol, but where will home be in the future, for them or for me? For us, he wonders, as Cressida removes the last of her clothing. The very concept will have to remain a mystery to solve another day. One thing at a time.

Apparently reading his mind Cressida asks him, “Are you sure that you wouldn’t think of going back to Twelve?”  
“No, Cress. I haven’t changed my mind on that. Maybe to visit one day, especially with mom and Rory’s plans to return. But not permanently. Still, I’m happy about turning our woods there into a permanent preserve. All I can think of is how happy Katniss will be to have those woods saved. She’ll always be able to go back there without worrying about it being swallowed up by development.” He look at her searchingly. “It doesn’t bother you that I talk about her, does it?”

Now naked and oh, so beautiful, Gale can’t help notice, Cressida comes over to where he is standing by the edge of the bed and caresses the side of his face. “She was important in your life. Represented something positive during those challenging years, being able to escape to those woods for a time. And you loved her. That’s the thing about first loves, Gale,” she says with a gentle smile. “They never completely leave you. They change you.” She brings his head down and the kiss she gives him is both comforting and stirring.

As she begins to unbutton his shirt, he is struck by her words. Gale gazes at that painting on the wall. The one with the old stone building consumed by all those vines. He slips out of his clothes, then reaches for her hand and places it over his heart. His thumb brushing the vine tattoo on her wrist.  
“You’re right about that, about how it changes you. But it’s not about Katniss. Don’t you know, Cress?” He looks at her with all the emotion he feels, open and exposed. “She isn’t the one who changed me. It’s you. You’re my first love.” 

She looks at him with such astonishment and emotion that he is amazed that she couldn’t know this. As she pushes him back onto the bed and hovers over him, he is taken back to another place and time, to District Eight, to a lover and huntress who captured him. He lays back submitting to and savouring every touch and sound she gives. As they make love he feels a completeness.

Cressida begins to move over him, and Gale’s breathing becomes synchronized to the rhythm of her motion. As they both are swept up in the intoxication of the moment, he sees in that painting how the vines and stone structure are so entwined that they are like one, supporting each other, each able to stand by virtue of the other. Her eyes are closed, her mouth open and uttering sounds that stir something primal inside him. But he can’t stop from watching her. Words tangle and swirl together in his consciousness, gratitude, need, desire and adoration along with dreams of toasting and forever.

When her face becomes so exquisitely contorted in ecstasy as she finds her peak, he is filled with awe by the incredible sight of it, both marvelling in the moment and humbled that he is the one that can inspire this in her, and he finds his release as well. She collapses down onto his chest, both of them expended, catching their breath.  
With the warm exhalation of her breath on his lips, Cressida whispers the words, ”I love you.” And his heart overflows. So without hesitation he whispers it back to her, and his arms encircle her in a tight embrace.

As they lie together, lips brushing against skin, limbs tangled and entwined, all the words and thoughts that swirl in Gale’s mind coalesce into one single thought.  
I am home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only the Epilogue remains. Thank you so much for reading my story! I am especially grateful for all the comments and words of support. It has been so very appreciated!


	9. Epilogue

It’s been almost a year and a half since Gale began his new endeavour and so far it has exceeded his expectations. He was anticipating some resistance within the districts to restricting use of prime lands within their jurisdictions, but so far, the public has supported the idea of preserving these areas for everyone to enjoy.

Cressida has mused about going ‘independent’ in her career. Gale asked her what she meant, and she answered that she would no longer work under Plutarch’s shadow, but would report on the things that were important to her, in the way she wanted to report them. 

When Gale had asked her if such a thing was allowed, she answered with a degree of scorn, “I thought you were a rebel like me!” Gale had feigned offence by gripping his chest as if she’d stabbed him in the heart. Cressida also reminded him that it could be another step towards the freedom to eventually leave the Capitol, and relocate anywhere they chose some day, if they so wished. He asked her if she was worried about resistance from the Ministry of Communication. She had simply answered that the time was right and the country was ready for a free press.  
“And besides,” she had added, sidling provocatively up to him. “What do I care? I have you to protect me.” And Gale had smiled with a sense of pride.

He and Cressida have had their hands full between their respective careers and managing a crowded home with the three younger Hawthornes, each with their own busy schedules. Rory, Vick and Posy travel ‘home’ to District Twelve over their school holidays, as usual, to be with their mother, who continues to miss them terribly. Her business took a couple of months to take off, the people of Twelve needed some time to warm up to the idea of spas and such indulgences. But in the past year, she has become successful and even hired on additional staff.

The previous summer, when Rory, Vick and Posy went back to Twelve for their school break, Gale proposed to Cressida. It had happened after they got back from a particularly gruelling tour through several districts with Pollux. Gale was checking on the progress of establishing the land preserves and Cressida and Pollux had reported on it. But they were also able to spend some time with Emely, Annie and her son in District Four. After they got home from the tour, they had the whole house to themselves and with the intimacy of the moment, it felt right.  
They called Hazelle the next day. She announced that they would all travel back to the Capitol for the wedding scheduled for the end of the summer.

The discussion of what kind of ceremony they should have naturally came up. Cressida chose an elegant and decadent meal, but just with a small group - the family, Pollux and a few of their closest friends from work. She even agreed to Posy’s insistence of a veil covered in iridescent sparkles. Cressida had suggested a toasting and Gale had been touched that she remembered. A true marriage of Capitol and District Twelve traditions.

The day the Hawthornes arrived in the Capitol for the wedding, Rory had handed Cressida a package, wrapped in plain paper and tied with string.  
“This is for you two, for tomorrow, all the way from District Twelve,” he said with a wink.  
Gale and Cressida exchanged a look. “Who’s it from?” Gale asked.  
“Open it and take a look!” Posy answered, clearly excited about the surprise.  
Gale handed Cressida the envelope, while he took the package and untied the string. She opened the card and Gale glanced over and recognized Katniss’s careful handwriting. Cressida read her words.  
“Hazelle told us about your engagement. Peeta and I wish you both all the best in the world. And we wanted you to have a little piece of District Twelve tradition to add to your special day. Be happy.”  
Gale’s attention returned to the package. He finally removed the wrapping and gave a chuckle and nodded. “Perfect,” he said.  
“What is it?” Cressida asked as the other Hawthornes grinned at them. In the box lay a perfect loaf of bread. And the box was labeled ‘Mellarks’ Bakery.’  
“For the toasting,” Vick announced just in case anyone couldn’t figure it out.

The next day, they signed the papers and made it official. They celebrated with family and friends and later that night, at a mountain lodge retreat just outside the Capitol, they toasted Peeta’s gift of bread by the fire in their cabin.

But now they find almost another year has passed, and spring is beginning to wane. It is two years ago almost to the day that Gale and Cressida met up in District Eight and their lives changed.  
Rory still plans to return home permanently to Twelve in three years when he finishes his studies. He goes back there every summer for his work experience component. Gale continues to take courses and he and Rory enjoy getting to spend time together on the campus when their schedules mesh. Octavia is still mentoring Posy in becoming a true Capitolite. Gale doesn’t know what to think about that, but Cressida assures him, that although Posy is still young, she won’t let anyone influence her to do anything that she doesn’t want to do. She is just like her big brother, after all.

“But look how easily I was beguiled by your Capitol ways,” Gale retorts. Cressida reminds him that it has nothing to do with her Capitol pedigree, and he has to admit she’s right about that. Even Vick has taken an interest in the bigger issues of Panem, in which Gale and Cressida are fully immersed with their jobs. He announces one day that he thinks he’s going to go into law, and maybe some day run for president.  
“Now that I’d like to see!” Gale says enthusiastically. “A kid from Twelve, the backwater district of Panem, running the whole country!”  
“Then I’d be telling you what to do for a change,” Vick gloats and finds himself in an affectionate head-lock by his oldest brother.

Now that summer is approaching, they are all planning to return as a family to spend time with Hazelle in District Twelve. It is the first time Gale and Cressida have been back since the unveiling of the memorial statue, a year and a half ago. But this time it’s easier. Cressida has kept in touch with Katniss and Peeta over the past year, something she’s much better at than he is, Gale thinks. Truth be told, he still feels a bit awkward about figuring out exactly how to act around Katniss. But they are likely to be spending some time in each other’s company over the next several weeks. Maybe she’ll even invite him to go hunting with her, he hopes. It would be a great excuse to see how the district’s park preserve has worked out. And what Katniss thinks about it. But he won’t push it. ‘Give it time, Gale,’ she had told him. He owes her that much.

Cressida kept her word to Katniss and Peeta, and kept the press at bay. She published only a few details of their life, and made it sufficiently boring that the country soon found more tantalizing stories to fixate upon. According to Hazelle, other than within their own district, the ‘Star-Crossed Lovers of District Twelve’ have become a forgotten memory, and they have been left alone. Even the children’s textbooks that teach of the rebellion do not mention the word ‘Mockingjay’ with the name ‘Katniss.’ Cressida suspects that’s Plutarch’s doing, trying to minimize Katniss’s celebrity. He’s always playing the game, she had said to Gale.

The evening before they plan to catch the train east, Cressida is rushing around overseeing the ‘kids’ as they organize their bags for the trip. She finally comes into her and Gale’s bedroom and gives an exhausted sigh.  
“I think we’re actually finally organized! No thanks to you,” she chides as she picks up a t-shirt from the pile of clothes to be packed and throws it at Gale who’s just coming out of their washroom, ready for bed.  
“Hey, I told you, there’s no better way for them to learn, than to do it themselves. If they forget something, it’s on them. A good learning experience.”  
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that. And I wasn’t talking about them!” she says and makes her way past him into the washroom.  
Gale stretches out on the bed, a contented smile on his face, wondering what it will feel like to be back in District Twelve again. A considerable amount of time passes before he realizes that Cressida is still not back. How long does it take to pack a few bath supplies and brush your teeth anyway? he wonders.  
“What’s keeping you? It’s lonely out here,” he teases.  
Cressida opens the door, turns off the light to the washroom and joins him under the covers.  
“You’re especially quiet,” Gale says as she silently snuggles closely at his side, her head on his shoulder.

Finally she says, “Gale, we really need to get a bigger place. Three bedrooms with the five of us, plus your mom when she visits, it’s a bit tight.”  
“Are you kidding? We Hawthornes have lots of experience living in close quarters. Remember I came from the Seam in Twelve? Not to mention our time in D13.”  
After a pause he adds, “Besides, in a couple of years, Rory will be gone and Vick will have a room all to himself. It’ll feel positively vacant around here. Especially over the holidays when they all go home to visit mom.”  
“The thing is, we need another bedroom,” she insists. “For what? When mom comes home to visit? She doesn’t mind sharing with Posy. Like I said, the six of us here works just fine, especially when it isn’t even all the time.”  
“Seven.”  
What? he asks himself, mentally doing a head count of the members of the Hawthorne clan.  
“Yes, we need a home to fit seven Hawthornes.” And with that she gives him a coy smile.  
Gale first looks at her with confusion, then his eyes go wide in realization. Then finally with a big grin he lets out a whoop of excitement and rolls over to look her in her eyes to be sure she’s not teasing him. Her broad, toothy smile is answer enough. He wraps her in a tight embrace.  
“Yeah, maybe we do need a bigger place after all,” Gale says, his mind turning somersaults at the news.

And for just a brief moment Gale allows himself to remember back to a time, so long ago. A different lifetime really. And he remembers a scrawny six-year-old who cowered in shadows and didn’t dare think beyond merely surviving the day. But this time, instead of feeling misery, he allows himself a satisfied inward smile. Life turned out okay. Better than okay. Despite the losses, the mistakes, the pain received and inflicted. And he wonders how on earth he ended up here, with this life. Then Cressida stretches up to kiss him goodnight and then he knows the reason for his second chance.

And he whispers in her ear, as she holds him close, “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to my lovely beta, Everlarked, for all her help. If you haven't already, be sure to read her multi-chapter fanfic, 'Coals Pressed Into Pearls,' a post-Mockingjay, Katniss and Peeta story. And if you notice that certain details of her story are familiar, it is not a coincidence. It has been such a pleasure to collaborate on our two stories, allowing them to cross paths occasionally.


End file.
